ESTHER  WAFERS 

AN   ENGLISH   STORY 


BY 

GEORGE  MOORE 


NEW  YORK 

BRENTANO'S 

I92I 


Printed  in  Great  Britain 


r^'-i 


ESTHER    WATERS 


L 

She  stood  on  the  platform  watching  the  receding  train. 
The  white  steam  cm*led  above  the  few  bushes  that  hid  the 
curve  of  the  line,  evaporating  in  the  pale  evening.  A 
moment  more  and  the  last  carriage  would  pass  out  of 
sight,  the  white  gates  at  the  crossing  swinging  slowly 
forward  to  let  through  the  impatient  passengers. 

An  oblong  box  painted  reddish  brown  and  tied  with  a 
rough  rope  lay  on  the  seat  beside  her.     The  movement 
of  her  back  and  shoulders  showed  that  the  bundle  she 
carried  was  a  heavy  one,  and  the  sharp  bulging  of  the 
grey    linen    cloth    that    the    weight    was    dead.      She 
wore  a  faded  yellow  dress  and  a  black  jacket  too  warm 
for  the  day.      A  girl  of  twenty,  firmly  built  with  short, 
strong   arms    and   a   plump    neck    that    carried   a   well- 
turned    head   with    dignity.      Her   well -formed   nostrils 
redeemed  her  somewhat  thick,  fleshy  nose,  and  it  was  a 
pleasure   to  see  her  grave,  almost  sullen,  face  light  up 
with    sunny  humour ;    for   when    she  laughed  a  line    of 
almond-shaped    teeth    showed    between   red    lips.      She 
was   laughing   now,  the  porter  having  asked  her  if  she 
were  afraid  to  leave  her  bundle  with  her  box.     Both,  he 
said,   would   go   up   together  in  the   donkey-cart.     The 
donkey-cart  came  down  every  evening  to  fetch  parcels. 


"1  ^wO  i    ,^ 


g.:  .-: ..,..,.        ESTHER  WATERS 

The  man  lingered^  and  she  heard  from  him  that  all  the 
down  lands  she  could  see  right  up  to  Beading  belonged  to 
the  squire. 

"  Beading  ?"  she  said.  "  I  thought  the  Barfields  lived  in 
Shoreham." 

"So  they  do/'  he  answered^  "near  Shoreham  yonder^ 
and  he  pointed  to  a  belt  of  trees  ;  they  be  too  fine  folk 
for  the  town.  Shoreham,  you  see,  isn't  what  it  was  in 
days  gone  by  with  shipyards  about  the  harbour,  and  ships 
from  all  parts  dropping  their  sails  as  they  come  within  the 
breakwaters.  Not  much  doing  in  the  way  of  building 
down  this  way — a  three-ton  boat  or  two  on  the  stocks, 
not  much  more."  He  would  have  stayed  longer,  for  the 
girl  was  to  his  fancy,  but  the  station-master  called  him 
away  to  remove  some  luggage.  "  You'll  find  the  gate 
behind  yon  trees,"  he  cried,  looking  back.  The  girl 
thanked  him  and  strolled  up  the  platform,  gazing  across 
the  low-lying  fields  out  of  which  the  downs  rose  in 
gradual  ascents,  uncertain  if  she  should  leave  her  bundle 
with  her  box. 

At  the  end  of  the  platform  the  station-master  took  her 
ticket  and  she  passed  over  the  level  crossing,  trying  to 
gather  her  wits  but  unable  to  do  so  till  she  caught  sight 
of  some  "  villas,"  a  row  of  twenty-four  semi-detached 
houses,  iron  railings,  laurels,  and  French  windows.  She 
had  been  in  service  in  such  houses  and  knew  that  a  general 
servant  was  kept  in  each.  But  the  life  in  Woodview  was 
a  great  dream,  and  she  could  not  imagine  herself  accom- 
plishing all  that  would  be  required  of  her.  There  would  be 
a  butler,  a  footman,  and  a  page ;  she  would  not  mind  the 
page — but  the  butler  and  footman,  what  would  they 
think?  There  would  be  an  upper-housemaid  and  an 
under-housemaid,  and  perhaps  a  lady's-maid,  and  maybe 
that  these  ladies  had  been  abroad  with  the  family,  and 
would   talk    about    France    and    Germany,    about   trains, 


ESTHER  WATERS  3 

hotels,  and  travelling  all  night.     But  she  would  not  be 
able  to  join  in  ;  her  silence  would  give  them  the  tip ;  they 
would  ask  her  what  situations  she  had  been  in,  and  when 
they  learned  the  truth  she  would  leave  disgraced.      But 
she  hadn't  sufficient  money  to  pay  for  a  ticket  to  London. 
And  what  excuse  could  she  give  to  Lady  Elwin,  who  had 
rescued  her  from  Mrs.  Dunbar  and  got  her  the  place  of 
kitchen-maid  at  Woodview  ?     No,  she  couldn't  go  back. 
Her  father  would  curse  her,  and  perhaps  beat  her  mother 
and  her  too.     Ah  !  he  would  not  dare  to  strike  her  again, 
and  the  girl's  face  flushed  with  shameful  remembrance. 
Her  little  brothers  and  sisters  would  cry  if  she  came  back. 
They  had  little  enough  to  eat  as  it  was.     Of  course  she 
mustn't  go  back.     How  silly  of  her  to  think  of  such  a  thing  ! 
All    the    same    she    would    be    glad    when   the    first 
week    was    over.      If   she    had    only    a    dress    to    wear 
in    the    afternoons!      The     old    yellow    thing    on    her 
back  would  never   do.      But   one   of  her   cotton   prints 
was  pretty  fresh;    she  must  get  a  bit  of  red  ribbon — 
that  would  make  a  difference.     She  had  heard  that  the 
housemaids  in  places  like  Woodview  always  changed  their 
dresses  twice  a  day,  and  on  Sundays  went  out  in  silk 
mantles  and  hats  in  the  newest  fashion.    As  for  the  lady's- 
maid,  she  of  course  had  all  her  mistress's  clothes,  and 
walked  with  the  butler.     What  would  such  people  think 
of  a  little  girl  like  her  !     Her  heart  sank  at  the  thought, 
and  she  sighed,  anticipating  much  bitterness  and  disap- 
pointment.     Even  when  her  first  quarter's  wages   came 
due  she  would  hardly  be  able  to  buy  herself  a  dress :  they 
would  want  the  money  at  home.     Her  quarter's  wages ! 
A  month's  wages  most  like,  for  she'd  never  be  able  to 
keep  the  place.     So  all  those  fields  belonged  to  the  squire, 
and  those  great  woods  too.    "  My  word  !  they  must  be  fine 
folk,  quite  as  fine  as  Lady  Elwin — finer,  for  she  lived  in  a 
house  like  those  near  the  station." 


4  ESTHER  WATERS 

On  both  sides  of  the  straight  road  there  were  tall  hedges 
and  the  nurserymaids  lay  in  the  shadows  on  the  rich 
summer  grass^  their  perambulators  at  a  little  distance^  and 
with  the  hum  of  the  town  dying  out  of  the  ear^  the  girl  con- 
tinued to  imagine  the  future  she  was  about  to  enter  into. 
She  could  see  two  houses^  one  in  grey  stone^  the  other  in 
red  brick  with  a  gable  covered  with  ivy ;  and  between 
them  the  spire  of  a  church,  and  questioning  a  passer-by 
she  learnt  that  the  first  house  was  the  Rectory,  and  that 
the  second  was  Wood  view  Lodge.  If  that  was  the  lodge, 
what  must  the  house  be  ? 

Two  hundred  yards  further  on  the  road  branched, 
passing  on  either  side  of  a  triangular  clump  of  trees ; 
and  the  lungs  of  the  jaded  town  girl  drew  in  a  deep  breath 
of  health.  The  little  green  wood  soothed  her  fears  and 
encouraged  her  to  be  brave  and  interrupt  the  gatekeeper 
who  was  playing  a  flageolet  in  a  small  lodge  by  a  white- 
painted  gate.  He  told  her  to  keep  straight  on  and  to  be 
sure  to  turn  to  the  left  w^hen  she  got  to  the  top  ;  and 
having  never  seen  an  avenue  before,  she  stopped  to  admire 
the  rough  branches  of  elms,  like  rafters  above  the  road- 
way, and  to  hear  the  monotonous  dove. 

Her  doubts  returned ;  she  never  would  be  able  to 
keep  the  place.  The  avenue  bent  a  little,  and  she  came 
suddenly  upon  a  young  man  leaning  over  the  paling, 
smoking  his  pipe. 

''  Please,  sir,  is  this  the  way  to  Woodview  ?" 

"  Yes,  right  up  through  the  stables,  round  to  the  left." 
And  then,  noticing  the  sturdily-built  figure,  yet  graceful  in 
its  sturdiness,  and  the  bright  cheeks,  he  said,  "  You  look 
pretty  well  done ;  that  bundle  is  a  heavy  one,  let  me  hold 
it  for  you." 

"  I  am  a  bit  tired,"  she  said,  leaning  the  bundle  on  the 
paling.  "They  told  me  at  the  station  that  the  donkey- 
cart  would  bring  up  my  box  later  on." 


ESTHER  WATERS  5* 

"Ahj  then  you  are  the  new  kitchen-maid?  What's 
your  name?" 

^^  Esther  Waters." 

"  My  mother's  the  cook  here  ;  you'll  have  to  mind  your 
p's  and  q's  or  else  you'll  be  dropped  on.  The  devil  of  a 
temper  while  it  lasts^  but  not  a  bad  sort  if  you  don't  put 
her  out." 

"  Are  you  in  service  here  ?" 

"  No^  but  I  hope  to  be  afore  long.  I  could  have  been 
two  years  ago^  but  mother  didn't  like  me  to  put  on 
livery,  and  I  don't  know  how  I'll  face  her  when  I  come 
running  down  to  go  out  with  the  carriage." 

"Is  the  place  vacant?"  Esther  asked,  raising  her  eyes 
timidly,  looking  at  him  sideways. 

"  Yes,  Jim  Story  got  the  sack  about  a  week  ago.  When 
he  had  taken  a  drop  he'd  tell  every  blessed  thing  that 
was  done  in  the  stables.  They'd  get  him  down  to  the 
'  Red  Lion '  for  the  purpose  ;  of  course  the  squire  couldn't 
stand  that." 

"  And  shall  you  take  the  place  ?" 

''Yes.  I'm  not  going  to  spend  my  life  carrying  parcels 
up  and  down  the  King's  Road,  Brighton,  if  I  can  squeeze 
in  here.  It  isn't  so  much  the  berth  that  I  care  about, 
but  the  advantages,  information  fresh  from  the  fountain- 
head.  You  won't  catch  me  chattering  over  the  bar  at 
the  '  Red  Lion '  and  having  every  blessed  word  I  say 
wired  up  to  London  and  printed  next  morning  in  all  the 
papers." 

Esther  wondered  what  he  was  talking  about,  and, 
looking  at  him,  she  saw  a  low,  narrow  forehead,  a  small, 
round  head,  a  long  nose,  a  pointed  chin,  and  rather 
hollow,  bloodless  cheeks.  Notwithstanding  the  shallow 
chest,  he  was  powerfully  built,  the  long  arms  could  deal 
a  swinging  blow.  The  low  forehead  and  the  lustreless  / 
eyes  told  of  a  slight,   unimaginative  brain,   but   regular  y 


i\ 


6  ESTHER  WATERS 

features  and  a  look  of  natural  honesty  made  William  Latch 
a  man  that  ten  men  and  eighteen  women  out  of  twenty 
would  like. 

'^I  see  you've  got  books  in  that  bundle/'  he  said  at  the 
end  of  a  long  silence.     "  Fond  of  readin'  ?" 

"They  are  mother's  books/'  she  replied,  hastily.  '^^  I 
was  afraid  to  leave  them  at  the  station,  for  it  would  be 
easy  for  anyone  to  take  one  out,  and  I  shouldn't  miss  it 
until  I  undid  the  bundle." 

"Sarah  Tucker — that's  the  upper-housemaid — will  be 
after  you  to  lend  them  to  her.  She's  a  wonderful  reader. 
She  has  read  every  story  that  has  come  out  in  Bo7v  Bells 
for  the  last  three  years,  and  you  can't  puzzle  her,  try  as 
you  will.  She  knows  all  the  names,  can  tell  you  which 
lord  it  was  that  saved  the  girl  from  the  carriage  when  the 
'osses  were  tearing  like  mad  towards  a  precipice  a  'undred 
feet  deep,  and  all  about  the  baronet  for  whose  sake  the 
girl  went  out  to  drown  herself  in  the  moonlight.  I  'aven't 
read  the  books  mesel',  but  Sarah  and  me  are  great 
pals." 

Esther  trembled  lest  he  might  ask  her  again  if  she 
were  fond  of  reading,  for  she  could  not  read  ;  and  noticing 
a  change  in  the  expression  of  her  face,  he  thought  she  was 
disappointed  to  hear  he  liked  Sarah  and  wished  he'd  kept 
his  mouth  shut. 

"Good  friends,  you  know — no  more.  Sarah  and  me 
never  hit  it  off;  she  will  worry  me  with  the  stories  she 
reads.  I  don't  know  what's  your  taste,  but  I  likes 
something  out  of  which  I  can  make  a  bit.     The  little  'oss 

o 

in  there,  'e's  more  in  my  line." 

"They  told  me  at  the  station,"  she  said,  "that  the 
donkey-cart  would  bring  up  my  box." 

"The  donkey-cart  isn't  going  to  the  station  to-night 
— you'll  want  your  things,  to  be  sure.  I'll  see  the 
coachman  ;    perhaps    he's    going   down    with    the   trap. 


ESTHER  WATERS  7 

But,  golly!  it  has  gone  the  half-hour.  I  shall  catch  it 
for  keeping  you  talking,  and  my  mother  has  been 
expecting  you  for  the  last  hour.  She  hasn't  a  soul  to 
help  her,  and  six  people  coming  to  dinner.  You  must 
say  the  train  was  late." 

"Let  us  go,  then,"  cried  Esther.  "Will  you  show  me 
the  way?" 

Evergreen  oaks  looped  into  an  arch  over  the  iron  gate 
which  opened  into  the  pleasure-ground  and  the  angles  and 
urns  of  an  Italian  house  showed  between  beech-trees  to 
which  rooks  were  returning.  A  high  brick  wall  separated 
the  pleasure-ground  from  the  stables,  and  as  William  and 
Esther  turned  to  the  left  and  walked  up  the  roadway  they 
passed  by  many  doors,  hearing  the  trampling  of  horses 
and  the  rattling  of  chains.  The  roadway  opened  into  a 
handsome  yard  overlooked  by  the  house,  the  back  premises 
of  which  had  been  lately  rebuilt  in  red  brick.  There 
were  gables  and  ornamental  porches,  and  through  the 
large  kitchen  windows  Esther  caught  sight  of  the  servants 
passing  to  and  fro.  At  the  top  of  this  yard  a  gate  led 
into  the  park  and  through  it  a  string  of  horses  was 
coming.  The  horses  wore  grey  clothing  and  hoods,  and 
Esther  noticed  the  black  round  eyes  looking  through 
the  eyelet  holes,  and  the  small,  ugly  boys,  who  swung 
their  legs,  and  struck  the  horses  with  little  ash  plants 
when  they  reached  their  heads  forward  chawing  at  the 
bits.  "  Look,  see  him,  the  third  one  ;  that's  he — that's 
Silver  Braid." 

An  impatient  knocking  at  the  kitchen  window  inter- 
rupted his  admiration,  and  William,  turning  quickly,  said : 
"  Mind  you  say  the  train  was  late ;  don't  say  I  kept  you, 
or  you'll  get  me  into  a  devil  of  a  pickle.  This  way." 
The  door  led  into  a  passage  covered  with  cocoanut 
matting,  and  the  handsome  room  she  found  herself 
in  did  not  conform  to  anything  that  Esther  had  seen  or 


8  ESTHER  WATERS 

heard  of  kitchens.  For  the  range  ahnost  filled  one 
end  of  the  room,  and  on  it  a  dozen  saucepans  were 
simmering;  the  dresser  reached  to  the  ceiling,  and  was 
covered  with  a  multitude  of  plates  and  dishes,  and 
Esther  thought  how  she  must  strive  to  keep  it  in  its 
present  beautiful  condition :  the  elegant  white-capped 
servants  passing  round  the  white  table  made  her  feel  her 
own  insignificance. 

^^This  is  the  new  kitchen-maid,  mother." 

^^  Ah,  is  it  indeed?"  said  Mrs.  Latch,  looking  up  from 
the  tray  of  tartlets  which  she  had  taken  from  the  oven 
and  was  filling  with  jam,  and  Esther  noticed  Mrs.  Latch's 
likeness  to  her  son — the  same  long,  narrow  nose,  the  same 
temples. 

"  I  suppose  you'll  tell  me  the  train  "svas  late  ?" 

"  Yes,  mother,  the  train  was  a  quarter  of  an  hour  late," 
William  chimed  in. 

"I  didn't  ask  you,  you  idle,  lazy,  good-for-nothing 
vagabond.  I  suppose  it  was  you  who  kept  the  girl  all 
this  time.  Six  people  coming  to  dinner,  and  I've  been 
the  w^hole  day  without  a  kitchen-maid.  If  Margaret  Gale 
hadn't  come  down  to  help  me,  I  don't  know  where  we 
should  be  ;  as  it  is,  the  dinner  will  be  late." 

The  two  housemaids,  both  in  print  dresses,  stood  listen- 
ing, and  Esther's  face  clouded  when  Mrs.  Latch  told 
her  to  take  her  things  off  and  set  to  and  prepare  the 
vegetables,  so  that  she  might  see  what  she  was  made  of. 
Esther  did  not  answer  at  once,  but  turned  away,  saying 
under  her  breath  :  ^^  I  must  change  my  dress,  and  ni}^  box 
hasn't  come  up  from  the  station  yet." 

"  You  can  tuck  your  dress  up,  and  Margaret  Gale  will 
lend  you  her  apron." 

Esther  hesitated. 

"  What  you've  got  on  don't  look  as  ii  it  could  come  to 
much  damage.     Come,  now,  set  to." 


ESTHER  WATERS  9 

The  housemaids  burst  into  loud  laughter,  and  then  a 
sullen  look  of  dogged  obstinacy  passed  over  and  settled  Li- 
on Esther's  face,  even  to  the  point  of  visibly  darkening     V 
the  white  and  rose  complexion. 


II. 

Esther  lay  in  a  low,  narrow  iron  bed,  pushed  close  against 
the  wall  in  the  full  glare  of  the  sun,  staring  half  awake, 
her  eyes  open  but  still  dim  with  dreams.  One  end  of 
the  room  that  she  had  awakened  in  was  under  the  roof ; 
a  lean-to  ;  and  through  a  broad,  single  pane  the  early  sun- 
light fell  across  a  wall  papered  with  blue  and  white  flowers. 
On  the  wall  were  two  pictures — a  girl  with  a  basket  of 
flowers,  the  coloured  supplement  of  an  illustrated  news- 
paper, an  old  and  dilapidated  last-century  print,  and  there 
were  photographs  of  the  Gale  family  in  Sunday  clothes 
on  the  chimney-piece  and  the  green  vases  that  Sarah  had 
given  Margaret  on  her  birthday. 

It  was  not  yet  time  to  get  up,  and  Esther  raised 
her  arms  as  if  to  cross  them  behind  her  head,  but 
a  sudden  remembrance  of  yesterday  arrested  the  move- 
ment, and  a  shadow  settled  on  her  face.  She  had 
refused  to  prepare  the  vegetables,  and  cook  had  turned 
her  out  of  the  kitchen.  She  had  rushed  from  the  house 
in  the  hope  that  she  might  succeed  in  walking  back  to 
London ;  but  William  had  overtaken  her  in  the  avenue ; 
he  had  argued  with  her,  refusing  to  allow  her  to  pass  ; 
she  had  tried  to  tear  herself  from  him,  and,  failing,  had 
burst  into  tears.  He  was  kind,  and,  almost  against  her  will, 
led  her  back,  saying  all  the  while  that  he'd  speak  up  for 
her  and  make  it  all  right  with  his  mother.  But  Mrs.  Latch 
had  closed  her  kitchen  against  her,  and  she  had  had  to  go 
to  her  room.     Even  if  they  paid  her  fare  back  to  London, 


10  ESTHER  WATERS 

how  was  she  to  face  her  mother?  What  would  father  say? 
He  would  drive  her  from  the  house.  But  she  had  done 
nothing  wrong.     Why  did  cook  insult  her  ? 

Margaret's  bed  stood  in  the  shadov/  of  the  sloping 
wall ;  and  she  lay  one  arm  thrown  forward,  her  short, 
square  face  raised  to  the  light,  sleeping  so  heavily 
that  for  a  moment  Esther  felt  afraid.  But  her  eyes 
opened,  and  Margaret  stared  at  her  as  if  out  of  eternity. 
Raising  her  hands  to  her  eyes  she  said — 

"What  time  is  it?" 

"It  has  just  gone  six." 

"  Then  there's  plenty  of  time ;  we  needn't  be  down 
before  seven.  You  get  on  with  your  dressing ;  there's  no 
use  my  getting  up  till  you  are  done — we'd  be  tumbling 
over  each  other.  This  is  no  room  to  put  two  girls  to  sleep 
in — one  glass  and  not  much  bigger  than  your  hand. 
You'll  have  to  shove  your  box  under  your  bed.  In  my 
last  place  I  had  a  beautiful  room  with  a  Brussels  carpet, 
and   a   marble  washstand.      I    wouldn't   stay  here   three 

days  if  it  weren't "    Tlie  girl  laughed  and  turned  lazily 

over. 

Esther  did  not  answer. 

"Now,  isn't  it  a  grubby  little  room  to  put  two  girls  to 
sleep  in  ?     What  was  your  last  place  like  ?" 

Esther  answered  that  she  had  hardly  been  in  service 
before,  and  Margaret  was  too  much  engrossed  in  her  own 
thoughts  to  notice  the  curtness  of  the  answer. 

"  There's  only  one  thing  to  be  said  for  Woodview,  and 
that  is  the  eating ;  we  have  everything  we  want,  and 
we'd  have  more  than  we  want  if  it  weren't  for  the  old 
cook :  she  must  have  her  little  bit  out  of  everything, 
and  she  cuts  us  short  in  our  bacon  in  the  morning. 
But  that  reminds  me  !  You've  set  the  cook  against 
you,  and  will  have  to  bring  her  over  to  your  side  if  you 
want  to  remain  here." 


ESTHER  WATERS  11 

"  Why  should  I  be  asked  to  wash  up  the  moment  I 
came  in  the  house,  before  even  I  had  time  to  change 
my  dress  ?" 

"  It  was  hard  on  you.  She  always  gets  as  much  as 
she  can  out  of  her  kitchen-maid.  But  last  night  she 
was  pressed,  there  was  company  to  dinner.  I'd  have 
lent  you  an  apron,  and  the  dress  you  had  on  wasn't  ot 
much  account." 

"  It  isn't  because  a  girl  is  poor " 

"Oh,  I  didn't  mean  that;  I  know  well  enough 
what  it  is  to  be  hard  up."  Margaret  clasped  her  stays 
across  her  plump  figure  and  walking  to  the  glass  began  to 
brush  her  hair  from  her  forehead,  remarking  to  Esther 
that  she  would  be  glad  when  fringes  were  out  of  fashion, 
^^for  I  should  have  no  face  at  all  if  I  was  to  wear  one. 
Well,  I  never  !"  she  said,  turning,  for  Esther  did  not 
answer  her.  "  Well,  I  never  !  saying  your  prayers.  Do 
you  think  they  do  any  good  ?" 
Esther  looked  up  angrily. 

"  I  don't  want  to  say  anything  against  saying  prayers, 
but  I  wouldn't  before  the  others  if  I  was  you — they'll 
chaff  dreadful,  and  call  you  Creeping  Jesus." 

"Oh,  Margaret,  I  hope  they  won't  do  anything  so 
wicked.  But  I  am  afraid  I  shan't  be  long  here,  so  it 
doesn't  matter  what  they  think  of  meJ' 

On  their  way  downstairs  they  opened  the  windows  and 
doors,  and  Margaret  took  Esther  round,  showing  her  where 
the  things  were  kept,  and  telling  her  for  how  many  she 
must  lay  the  table.  At  that  moment  a  number  of  boys 
and  men  came  clattering  up  the  passage  asking  for  break- 
fast. They  cried  to  Esther  to  hurry  up,  declaring  that  they 
were  late.  Esther  did  not  know  who  they  were,  but  she 
served  them  as  best  she  might ;  and  they  had  not  been 
long  gone  when  the  squire  and  his  son  Arthur  appeared 
in  the  yard 


12  ESTHER  WATERS 

Mr.  Barfield,  nicknamed  the  Gaffer  by  the  stable  lads, 
was  in  his  youth  a  famous  steeplechase  rider^  but  he  was 
now  portly  and  it  w^as  difficult  to  see  in  him  the  young  man 
who  had  ridden  the  winner  at  Liverpool^  a  feat  of  horse- 
manship that  his  son^  Mr,  Arthur,  known  in  the  stables  as 
Ginger  on  account  of  his  yellow  hair,  hoped  to  outdo  by 
riding  at  least  two  winners  of  the  steeplechase,  an  ambi- 
tion which  he  might  well  entertain,  for  there  seemed  no 
danger  of  his  going  up  in  weight  (he  could  ride  a 
little  over  nine  stone) ;  a  lanky,  narrow-chested,  absurd- 
looking  young  man,  who,  however,  came  into  a  new 
individuality  the  moment  he  prepared  to  get  into  the 
saddle.  He  wore  long-necked  spurs  attached  to  his 
boots,  and  Esther  admired  the  beautiful  chestnut  horse  he 
rode,  a  little  too  thin,  she  thought ;  the  ugly  little  boys 
were  mounted  on  horses  equally  thin  ;  the  squire  rode  a 
stout  grey  cob,  and  turned  in  his  saddle  to  better  see  the 
chestnut,  or  was  it  the  brown  horse  that  interested  him  ?  the 
one  that  walked  with  his  head  in  the  air,  pulling  at  the 
smallest  of  all  the  boys,  a  little  freckled,  red-headed  fellow. 

"That's  Silver  Braid,  the  broMn  horse,  the  one  the 
Demon  is  riding.  Ginger  is  riding  the  chestnut  Bayleaf : 
he  won  the  City  and  Suburban.  Oh,  we  did  have  a  fine 
time  then,  for  we  all  had  a  bit  on.  The  betting  was 
twenty  to  one,  and  I  won  twelve  and  sixpence.  Grover 
won  thirty  shillings.  They  say  that  John  —  that's  the 
l3utler — won  a  little  fortune ;  but  he  is  so  close  no  one 
knows  what  he  has  on.  Cook  wouldn't  have  anything  on  ; 
she  says  that  betting  is  the  curse  of  servants — you  know 
what  is  said,  that  it  was  through  betting  that  Mrs.  Latch's 
husband  got  into  trouble.  He  was  steward  here,  in  the 
late  squire's  time." 

Margaret  had  heard  the  story  many  times,  and  she 
reeled  off  her  rigmarole  that  ''  old  Latch  was  a  confidential 
servant,  whose  accounts  were  not  examined  properly  till 
Marksman  failed  to  get  in  first  for  the  Chester  Cup.     A 


ESTHER  WATERS  IS 

great  upset  that  was,  the  squire's  property  having  to  be 
put  into  the  hands  of  a  receiver,  who  very  soon  got  on  the 
track  of  something  odd,  and  was  sending  for  Latch  to  ask 
him  to  explain  how  the  same  sums  of  money  had  been 
entered  twice  over.  It  was  some  trick  like  that  he'd 
been  up  to,  and  a  clever  one  too,  for  it  was  some  days 
before  the  accountant  found  it  out,  so  I've  heard.  Latch, 
like  the  squire,  believed  in  Marksman,  so  there  he  was 
up  a  tree,  and  they'd  have  clapped  him  into  gaol  if 
Mrs.  Latch  hadn't  come  forward  with  all  her  savings 
and  offered  to  go  without  wages  till  the  money  was  paid 
up.  Old  Latch  died  soon  after,  and  Mrs.  Latch  has  been 
taking  her  wages,  for  the  Barfields  aren't  a  bad  lot ;  but  I 
think,"  Margaret  continued,  "  that  she'd  as  soon  they'd  let 
her  out,  as  the  place  has  became  hateful  to  her  for  the  past 
and  the  present  too,  seeing  that  William  can't  keep  his 
thoughts  off  the  racehorses.  It  does  seem  a  shame  that 
the  Gaffer  should  have  had  William  taught  riding  in  the 
hope  of  making  a  jockey  of  him ;  but  he'd  grown  out  of 
jockey's  size  before  he  was  sixteen,  and  she  put  him 
into  an  office  in  Brighton.  But  he  is  the  very  spit  for  a 
footman,  as  he  well  knows  himself,  and  into  livery  he'll  go 
sooner  or  later ;  and  it  is  said  that  it  will  break  his 
mother's  heart  when  he  comes  running  down  the  stairs  in 
silk  stockings  and  powder,  a  cockade  in  his  hat.  Now 
you  know  the  whole  of  the  story  as  much  as  I've  heard  of 
it  myself,  and  you've  come  in  the  nick  of  time,  for  there's 
going  to  be  a  trial  this  morning,"  said  Margaret ;  "  Silver 
Braid  was  stripped  —  you  noticed  that  — and  Ginger 
always  rides  in  the  trials." 

''  I  don't  know  what  a  trial  is,"  said  Esther.     ''  They  are 
not  carriage-horses,  are  they?     They  look  too  slight." 

"  Carriage-horses,  you  ninny  !     Where  have  you  been  to 
all  this  while— can't  you  see  that  they  are  racehorses  ?" 

Esther  hung  down  her  head  and  murmured  something 
which  Margaret  didn't  catch. 


14  ESTHER  WATERS 

"To  tell  the  truth,  I  didn't  know  much  about  them 
when  I  came,  but  then  one  never  hears  anything  else 
here.  And  that  reminds  me — it  is  as  much  as  your 
place  is  worth  to  breathe  one  syllable  about  them  horses  ; 
you  must  know  nothing  when  you  are  asked.  That's 
what  Jim  Story  got  sacked  for — saying  in  the  '  Red  Lion  * 
that  Valentine  pulled  up  lame.  We  don't  know  how  it 
came  to  the  Gaffer's  ears.  I  believe  that  it  was  Mr. 
Leopold  who  told  ;  he  finds  out  everything.  But  I  was 
telling  you  how  I  learnt  about  the  racehorses.  It  was 
from  Jim  Story — Jim  was  my  pal — Sarah  is  after  William, 
you  know,  the  fellow  that  brought  you  into  the  kitchen 
last  night.  Jim  could  never  talk  about  anything  but  the 
'osses.  We'd  go  every  night  and  sit  in  the  wood-shed, 
that's  to  say  if  it  was  wet ;  if  it  was  fine  we'd  walk  in  the 
drove-way,  and  I'd  have  married  Jim,  I  know  I  should,  if 
he  hadn't  been  sent  away.  That's  the  worst  of  being  a 
servant.  They  sent  Jim  away  just  as  if  he  w^as  a  dog.  It 
was  wrong  of  him  to  say  the  horse  pulled  up  lame  ;  I  know 
that,  but  they  needn't  have  sent  him  away  as  they  did." 

Esther  was  not  listening.  She  was  thinking  of  what 
would  happen  to  her.  Would  they  send  her  away  at  the 
end  of  the  week,  or  that  very  afternoon  ?  Would  they 
give  her  a  week's  wages,  or  would  they  turn  her  out  to 
find  her  way  back  to  London  as  best  she  might  ?  What 
should  she  do  if  they  turned  her  out-of-doors  that  very 
afternoon  ?  Walk  back  to  London  ?  She  didn't  know 
how  far  she  had  come — a  long  distance,  no  doubt,  for  she 
had  seen  woods,  hills,  rivers,  and  towns  flying  past.  She'd 
never  be  able  to  find  her  way  back  through  them  miles 
of  country  ;  besides,  she  couldn't  carry  her  box  on  her 
back.  What  was  she  to  do  ?  Not  a  friend,  not  a  penny 
in  the  world.     Now  whv  did  such  misfortune  fall   on  a 


poor  girl  who  had  never  harmed  anyone  in  the  world ! 
And ~if~1:hry~-did  give   her   her  fare   back — what  then? 


ESTHER  WATERS  15 

Should  she  go  home  ?  To  whom  ?  To  her  mother — to 
her  poor  mother,  who  would  burst  into  tears,  saying : 
"  Oh,  my  poor  darling,  I  don't  know  what  we  shall  do ; 
your  father  will  never  let  you  stay  here." 

Mrs.  Latch  told  Esther  to  make  haste  and  lay  the 
table  afresh  ;  it  seemed  to  Esther  that  she  looked  round 
with  the  air  of  one  anxious  to  discover  something  that 
might  serve  as  a  pretext  for  blame.  But  she  laid  the 
table,  saying  to  herself,  "  so  those  that  are  gone  are 
the  stable  folk,  and  breakfast  has  now  to  be  prepared 
for  the  other  servants."  A  little  later  she  discovered 
that  the  person  in  the  dark  green  dress  who  spoke  with 
her  chin  in  the  air,  whose  nose  had  been  pinched  to 
purple  just  above  the  nostrils,  was  Miss  Grover,  the 
lady's-maid.  She  heard  her  address  an  occasional  remark 
to  Sarah  Tucker,  a  tall  girl  with  a  thin,  freckled  face  and 
dark  red  hair.  But  the  butler,  who  was  not  feeling  well, 
did  not  appear  at  breakfast,  and  Esther  was  sent  to  him 
with  a  cup  of  tea. 

There  were  the  plates  to  wash  and  the  knives  to  clean, 
and  when  they  were  done  there  were  potatoes,  cabbage, 
onions  to  prepare,  saucepans  to  fill  with  water,  coal  to 
fetch  for  the  fire,  and  Esther  worked  steadily  without 
flagging,  fearful  of  Mrs.  Bar  field,  who  would  come  down, 
no  doubt,  about  ten  o'clock  to  order  dinner. 

"  Well,  do  you  think  the  Gaffer's  satisfied  T'  said 
Margaret,  pointing;  for  the  racehorses  were  coming 
through  the  paddock  gate,  and  John,  a  little  man, 
wizened,  with  frequent  indigestion,  made  no  articulate 
reply,  but  went  by  muttering  something,  his  manner 
showing  that  his  mind  was  set  against  all  female  interest 
in  racing.  When  Sarah  and  Grover  came  running  down  the 
passage  and  overwhelmed  him  with  questions,  crowding 
round  him,  asking  both  together  if  Silver  Braid  had  won 
his  trial,  he  testily  pushed  them  aside,  declaring  that  if 


16  ESTHER  WATERS 

he  had  a  racehorse  he  wouldn't  have  a  woman-servant 
in  the  place.  "A  positive  curse,  this  chatter,  chatter. 
Won  his  trial,  indeed  !     What  business  had  a  lot  of  female 

folk "     The  rest  of  John's   sarcasm  was  lost  in  his 

shirt  collar  as  he  hurried  away  to  his  pantry,  closing  the 
door  after  him. 

"What  a  testy  little  man  he  is!"  said  Sarah;  ^'he 
might  have  told  us  which  won.  He  has  known  the  Gaffer 
so  long  that  he  can  tell  the  moment  he  looks  at  him 
whether  the  gees  are  all  right." 

"  One  can't  speak  to  a  chap  in  the  lane  that  he  don't 
know  all  about  it  next  day,"  said  Margaret,  ''  and  that's 
why  Peggy  hates  him;  you  know  the  way  she  skulks 
about  the  back  garden  and  up  the  'ill  so  that  she  may 
meet  young  Johnson  as  he  is  ridin'  'ome." 

"  I'll  have  none  of  this  scandal-mongering  going  on  in 
my  kitchen,"  said  Mrs.  Latch.  "  Do  you  see  that  girl 
there  ?     She  can't  get  past  to  her  scullery." 

It  seemed  to  Esther  that  she  could  have  managed 
pretty  well  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  dining-room  lunch. 
Miss  Mary  was  expecting  some  friends  to  play  tennis 
with  her,  and,  besides  the  roast  chicken,  there  were 
the  cutlets,  Soubise  sauce,  and  a  curry,  a  jelly,  and  a 
blancmange.  She  didn't  know  where  the  things  were. 
^^  Don't  you  move,  I  might  as  well  get  it  myself,"  said  the 
old  woman.  Mr.  Randal,  too,  lost  his  temper,  for  she  had  no 
hot  plates  ready,  nor  could  she  distinguish  between  those 
that  were  to  go  to  the  dining-room  and  those  that  were  to 
go  to  the  servants'  hall.  She  understood,  however,  that 
it  would  not  be  wise  to  give  way  to  her  feeling,  and  that 
the  only  way  she  could  hope  to  retain  her  situation  was  by 
doing  nothing  to  attract  attention.  She  must  learn  to 
control  that  temper  of  hers — she  must  and  would.  And 
it  was  in  this  frame  of  mind  and  with  this  determination 
that  she  entered  the  servants'  hall. 


ESTHER  WATERS  17 

There  were  not  more  than  ten  or  eleven  at  dinner,  but 
sitting  close  together  they  seemed  more  numerous,  and 
quite  half  the  number  of  faces  that  looked  up,  as  she  took 
her  place  next  to  Margaret  Gale,  were  unknown  to  her. 
The  four  ugly  little  boys  whom  she  had  seen  on  the  race- 
horses were  there,  but  she  did  not  recognize  them  at  first, 
and  nearly  opposite,  sitting  next  to  the  lady's-maid,  was 
a  small,  sandy-haired  man  about  forty  :  he  was  beginning 
to  show  signs  of  stoutness,  and  two  little  round  whiskers 
grew  on  his  cheeks.  At  the  end  of  the  table  Mr.  Randal 
sat  helping  the  pudding,  addressing  the  sandy- haired 
man  as  Mr.  Swindles,  whose  real  name  was  Ward, 
as  Esther  learnt  afterwards  :  he  was  Mr.  Barfi eld's  head 
groom.  She  learnt,  too,  that  "  the  Demon "  was  not 
the  real  name  of  the  little  carroty-haired  boy,  and  looked 
at  him  in  amazement  when  he  whispered  in  her  ear  that  he 
would  dearly  love  a  real  go-in  at  that  pudding,  but  it  was 
so  fattening  that  he  didn't  ever  dare  to  risk  more  than 
a  couple  of  sniffs.  Seeing  that  the  girl  did  not  under- 
stand, he  added,  by  way  of  explanation,  ^^You  know  I 
must  keep  under  the  six  stone,  and  at  times  it  becomes 
awful  'ard." 

Esther  thought  him  a  nice  little  fellow,  and  tried  to 
persuade  him  to  forgo  his  resolution  not  to  touch 
pudding,  until  Mr.  Swindles  told  her  to  cheese  it.  The 
attention  of  the  table  being  drawn  to  the  boy,  Esther 
wondered  at  the  admiration  with  which  everybody  viewed 
him  ;  it  seemed  strange  that  he  should  be  the  centre  of  so 
much  interest,  for  he  was  but  a  little  fellow  ;  the  bigger 
boys  were  overlooked,  and  as  for  the  long-nosed  lad,  with 
weak  eyes  and  sloping  shoulders,  who  sat  on  the  other 
side  of  the  table  on  Mr.  Swindles'  left,  why,  he  was 
everybody's  laughing-stock,  and  Mr.  Swindles  had  just 
begun  the  story  of  poor  Jim's  misadventures  with  the 
Gaffer. 


iS  ESTHER  WATERS 

''  But  why  do  you  call  him  Mr.  Leopold  when  his  name 
is  Mr.  Randal  ?"  Esther  ventured  to  inquire  of  the  Demon. 

"  On  account  of  Leopold  Rothschild/'  said  the  Demon ; 
"  he's  pretty  near  as  rich,  if  the  truth  was  known — w^on 
a  pile  over  the  City  and  Sub.  Pity  jou  weren't  here  ; 
might  have  had  a  bit  on." 

"  I  have  never  seen  the  City,"  Esther  replied  innocently. 

"  Never  seen  the  City  and  Sub. !  I  was  up,  had  a  lot  in 
hand,  so  I  came  away  from  my  'orses  the  moment  I  got 
into  the  dip.  The  Tinman  nearly  caught  me  on  the  post 
— came  with  a  terrific  rush  ;  he  is  just  hawful,  that  Tinman 
is.     I  did  catch  it  from  the  Gafler — he  did  give  it  me." 

The  plates  of  all  the  boys  except  the  Demon's  were 
now^  filled  with  beefsteak-pudding,  potatoes,  and  greens, 
likewise  Esther's.  Mr.  Leopold,  Mr.  Swindles,  the  house- 
maid, and  the  cook  dined  off  the  leg  of  mutton,  a  small 
slice  of  which  w^as  sent  to  the  Demon.  "  That  for  a 
dinner  !"  and  as  he  took  up  his  knife  and  fork  and  cut  a 
small  piece  of  his  one  slice,  he  said,  ''  I  suppose  you  never 
had  to  reduce  yourself  three  pounds ;  girls  never  have. 
I  do  run  to  flesh  so,  you  wouldn't  believe  it.  If  I  don't 
walk  to  Portslade  and  back  every  second  day,  I  go  up 
three  or  four  pounds.  Then  there's  nothing  for  it  but  the 
physic,  and  that's  what  settles  me.     Can  you  take  physic  ?" 

"I  took  three  Beecham's  pills  once." 

"  Oh,  that's  nothing.     Can  you  take  castor-oil.^" 

Esther  looked  in  amazement  at  the  little  boy  at  her 
side,  and  Swindles,  who  had  overheard  the  question,  burst 
into  laughter.  Everyone  wanted  to  hear  the  joke,  and, 
feeling  they  were  making  fun  of  her,  Esther  refused  to 
answer. 

The  first  helpings  of  pudding  or  mutton  had  taken  the 
edge  off  their  appetites,  and  before  sending  their  plates 
for  more  they  leaned  over  the  table  listening  and  laughing 
open-mouthed.     It  was  a  bare  room,  lit  with  one  window, 


ESTHER  WATERS  19 

and  the  window  looked  on  to  one  of  the  little  back  courts 
and  tiled  ways  which  had  been  built  at  the  back  of  the 
house.  The  shadowed  northern  light  softened  the  listening 
faces  with  grey  tints. 

'*  You  know/'  said  Mr.  Swindles,  glancing  at  Jim  as  if 
to  assure  himself  that  the  boy  was  there  and  unable  to 
escape  from  the  hooks  of  his  sarcasm,  '^how  fast  the  Gaffer 
talks,  and  how  he  hates  to  be  asked  to  repeat  his  words. 
Knowing  this,  Jim  always  says,  '  Yes,  sir  ;  yes,  sir.'  *  Now 
do  you  quite  understand  ?'  says  the  Gaffer.  '  Yes,  sir ; 
yes,  sir,'  replies  Jim,  not  having  understood  one  word  of 
what  was  said ;  but  relying  on  us  to  put  him  right.  ^  Now 
what  did  he  say  I  was  to  do  ?'  says  Jim,  the  moment  the 
Gaffer  is  out  of  hearing.  But  this  morning  we  were  on 
ahead,  and  the  Gaffer  had  Jim  all  to  himself.  As  usual  he 
says,  '  Now  do  you  quite  understand }'  and  as  usual  Jim 
says,  '  Yes,  sir  ;  yes,  sir.'  As  I  had  it  in  my  mind  that  Jim 
hadn't  understood,  I  said  when  he  joined  us,  ^  Now  it  you 
ain't  sure  what  he  said  you  had  better  go  back  and  ask 
him,'  but  Jim  said  he  had  understood.  '  And  what  did  he 
tell  you  to  do  V  said  I.  '  He  told  me,*  says  Jim,  '  to  bring 
the  colt  along  and  finish  up  close  by  where  he'd  be  standing 
at  the  end  of  the  track.'  I  thought  it  rather  odd  to  send 
Firefly  such  a  stiff  gallop  as  all  that,  but  Jim  was  certain 
that  he  had  heard  right.  And  off  they  went,  beginning 
the  other  side  of  Southwick  Hill.  I  saw  the  Gaffer  with 
his  arms  in  the  air,  and  don't  know  now  what  he  said. 
Jim  will  tell  you.  He  did  give  it  you,  didn't  he,  you  old 
Wool  gatherer  .'*''  said  Mr.  Swindles,  slapping  the  boy  on  the 
shoulder. 

"  You  may  laugh  as  much  as  you  please,  but  I'm  sure 
he  did  tell  me  to  come  along  three-quarter  speed  after 
passing  the  barn,"  replied  Jim,  and  to  change  the  conversa- 
tion he  asked  Mr.  Leopold  for  some  more  pudding,  and 
the  Demon's  hungry  eyes  watched  the  last  portion  being 


20  ESTHER  WATERS 

placed  on  the  Woolgatherer's  plate.     Noticing  that  Esther 
drank  no  beer,  he  exclaimed — 

"  Well,  I  never ;  to  see  yer  eat  and  drink  one  would 
think  that  it  was  you  who  was  a- wasting  to  ride  the  crack 
at  Goodwood." 

The  remark  stirred  up  some  laughter,  and,  excited  by 
his  success,  the  Demon  threw  his  arms  round  Esther,  and 
seizing  her  hands,  said,  "  Now  yer  a  just  beginning  to  get 

through  yer  'osses,  and  when  you  get   on   a   level " 

But  the  Demon,  in  his  hungry  merriment,  had  bestowed 
no  thought  of  finding  a  temper  in  such  a  staid  girl,  and  a 
sound  box  on  the  ear  threw  him  backwards  into  his  sea 
surprised  and  howling.  "  Yer  nasty  thing  !"  he  blubbered 
out.  "  Couldn't  you  see  it  was  only  a  joke  ?"  But  passion 
was  hot  in  Esther.  She  hadn't  understood  a  word  that  had 
been  said  since  she  had  sat  down  to  dinner,  and,  conscious 
of  her  poverty  and^  her  ignorance,  she  imagined  that 
a  great  deal  of  the  Demon's  conversation  had  been  directed 
against  her ;  and,  choking  with  indignation,  she  only 
heard  indistinctly  the  reproaches  with  which  the  other 
little  boys  covered  her — "  nasty,  dirty,  ill-tempered  thing, 
scullery-maid  " — nor  did  she  understand  their  whispered 
plans  to  duck  her  when  she  passed  the  stables.  All  looked 
a  little  askance,  especially  Grover  and  Mr.  Leopold. 
Margaret  said — 

"  That  will  teach  these  impertinent  little  jockey-boys 
that  the  servants'  hall  is  not  the  harness-room ;  they 
oughtn't  to  be  admitted  here  at  all." 

Mr.  Leopold  nodded,  and  told  the  Demon  to  leave  off 
blubbering.  "■  You  can't  be  so  much  hurt  as  all  that: 
Come,  wipe  your  eyes  and  have  a  j^jiece  of  currant  tart,  or 
leave  the  room.  I  want  to  hear  from  Mr.  SAvindles  an 
account  of  the  trial.  We  know  that  Silver  Braid  won,  but 
we  haven't  heard  how  he  won  nor  yet  what  the  weights 
were.' ' 


ESTHER  WATERS  21 

''Well/'  said  Mr.  Swindles,  "what  I  makes  out  is  this. 
I  was  riding  within  a  pound  or  two  of  nine  stone^  and  The 
Rake  is,  as  you  know,  seven  pounds,  no  more,  worse  than 
Bayleaf.  Ginger  rides  usually  as  near  as  possible  my 
weight — we'll  say  he  was  riding  nine  two — I  think  he 
could  manage  that — and  the  Demon,  we  know,  he  is  now 
riding  over  the  six  stone  ;  in  his  ordinary  clothes  he  rides 
six  seven.  ' 

"  Yes,  yes,  but  how  do  we  know  that  there  was  any  lead 
to  speak  of  in  the  Demon's  saddle-cloth  ?" 

"  The  Demon  says  there  wasn't  above  a  stone.  Don't 
you.  Demon  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  nothing !  I'm  not  going  to  stand  being 
cuffed  by  the  kitchen-maid." 

"Oh,  shut  up,  or  leave  the  room,"  said  Mr.  Leopold; 
''  we  don't  want  to  hear  any  more  about  that." 

"  I  started  making  the  running  according  to  orders. 
Ginger  was  within  three-quarters  of  a  length  of  me,  being 
pulled  out  of  the  saddle.  The  Gaffer  was  standing  at  the 
three-quarters  of  the  mile,  and  there  Ginger  won  fairly 
easily,  but  they  went  on  to  the  mile — them  were  the 
orders — and  there  the  Demon  won  by  half  a  length,  that 
is  to  say  if  Ginger  wasn't  a-kidding  of  him." 

"  A-kidding  of  me  !"  said  the  Demon.  "  When  we  was 
a  hundred  yards  from  'ome  I  steadied  without  his  noticing 
me,  and  then  I  landed  in  the  last  fifty  yards  by  half  a 
length.  Ginger  can't  ride  much  better  than  any  other 
gentleman." 

"Yer  see,''  said  Mr.  Swindles,  "  he'd  sooner  have  a  box 
on  the  ear  from  the  kitchen-maid  than  be  told  a  gentleman 
could  kid  him  at  a  finish.  He  wouldn't  mind  if  it  was 
the  Tinman,  eh.  Demon  ?" 

"We  know,"  said  Mr.  Leopold,  "that  Bayleaf  can  get 
the  mile ;  there  must  have  been  a  lot  of  weight  between 
them.     Besides,  I  should  think  that  the  trial  was  at  the 


25  ESTHER  WATERS 

three-quarters  of  the  mile.  The  mile  was  so  much 
kid." 

"  I  should  say,"  replied  Mr.  Swindles,  ''  that  the  'orses 
were  tried  at  twenty-one  pounds,  and  if  Silver  Braid  can 
beat  Bayleaf  at  that  weight,  he'll  take  a  deal  of  beating 
at  Goodwood." 

And  leaning  forward,  their  arms  on  the  table,  with  large 
pieces  of  cheese  at  the  end  of  their  knives,  the  maid- 
servants and  the  jockey  listened  while  Mr.  Leopold  and 
Mr.  Swindles  discussed  the  chances  the  stable  had  of 
pulling  off  the  Stewards'  Cup  with  Silver  Braid. 

''^But  he  will  always  keep  on  trying  them,"  said  Mr. 
Swindles,  ''  and  what's  the  use,  says  I,  of  trying  'orses  that 
are  no  more  than  'alf  fit  ?  And  them  downs  is  just  rotten 
with  'orse  watchers  ;  it  has  just  come  to  this,  that  you  can't 
comb  out  an  'orse's  mane  without  seeing  it  in  the  papers 

the  day  after.     If  I  had  my  way  with  them  gentry " 

Mr.  Swindles  finished  his  beer  at  a  gulp,  and  he  put 
down  his  glass  as  firmly  as  he  desired  to  put  down  the 
horse  watchers.  At  the  end  of  a  long  silence  Mr.  Leopold 
said — 

"  Come  into  my  pantry  and  smoke  a  pipe.  Mr.  Arthur 
will  be  down  presently.  Perhaps  he'll  tell  us  what  weight 
he  was  riding  this  morning." 

"  Cunning  old  bird,"  said  Mr.  Swindles,  as  he  rose  from 
the  table  and  wiped  his  shaven  lips  with  the  back  of  his 
hand ;  ^^  and  you'd  have  us  believe  that  you  didn't  know, 
would  you  ?  You'd  have  us  believe,  would  you,  that  the 
Gaffer  don't  tell  you  everything  when  you  bring  up  his 
hot  water  in  the  morning,  would  you  ?" 

Mr.  Leopold  laughed  under  his  breath,  and  looking 
mysterious  and  very  rat-like,  he  led  the  way  to  his  pantry. 
Esther  watched  them  in  strange  trouble  of  soul. 

She  had  heard  of  racecourses  as  shameful  places  where 
men  were  led  to  their  ruin,  and  betting  she  had  always 


ESTHER  WATERS  23 

understood  to  be  sinful,  but  in  this  house  no  one  seemed  /  / 
to  think  of  anything  else.  It  was  no  place  for  a  Christian  l^ 
girl. 

"  Let's  have  some  more  of  the  story,"  Margaret  said. 
"  You've  got  the  new  number.  The  last  piece  was  where 
he  is  going  to  ask  the  opera-singer  to  run  away  with  him." 

Sarah  took  an  illustrated  journal  out  of  her  pocket  and 
began  to  read  aloud. 

"  I  am  sure  it  is  wicked  to  read  such  tales."  |/ 

Sarah  looked  at  Esther  in  astonishment,  and  Grover  said:  7^ 

"  You  shouldn't  be  here  at  all.  Can't  Mrs.  Latch  find 
nothing  for  you  to  do  in  the  scullery  ?" 

'^  Then,"  said  Sarah,  awaking  to  a  sense  of  the  situation, 
"  I  suppose  that  where  you  come  from  you  were  not  so 
much  as  allowed  to  read  a  tale  ?" 

"  Esther's  box  is  full  of  books,"  said  Margaret. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  them  books,"  said  Sarah.  "  I'll  be 
bound  that  they  are  only  prayer-books." 

"I  don't  mind  what  you  say  to  me,  but  you  shall  no^// 
insult  my  religion."  / 

"  Insult  your  religion  !  I  said  you  never  had  read  a  book 
in  your  life,  unless  it  was  a  prayer-book." 

"  We  don't  use  prayer-books." 

^^Then  what  books  have  you  read  ?" 

Esther  hesitated,  and,  suspecting  the  truth,  Sarah  said  : 

"  I  don't  believe  you  can  read  at  all.  Come,  I'll  bet  you 
twopence  that  you  can't  read  the  first  five  lines  of  my 
story." 

Esther  pushed  the  paper  from  her  and  walked  out  of 
the  room  suffocated  with  shame,  though  it  was  not  her 
fault  if  she  didn't  know  how  to  read,  and  her  thoughts  re- 
turning to  Barnstaple,  she  went  upstairs,  drawn  thither  by 
her  mother's  books:  "Peter  Parley's  Annual,"  "Sunny 
Memories  of  Foreign  Lands,"  "  Children  of  the  Abbey," 
"Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  Lamb's  "Tales  of  Shakespeare's 


24  ESTHER  WATERS 

Plays/'  a  Cooking  Book^  ''  Rhoda's  Mission  of  Love,"  the 
Holy  Bible  and  the  Common  Prayer  Book. 

And  she  turned  them  over,  wondering  what  were  the 
mysteries  that  this  print  held  from  her. 

in. 

Esther  Waters  was  brought  up  in  the  strictness  of  a  sect, 
and  her  earliest  memories  were  of  people  who  tried  to  live 
like  the  early  Christians.  Her  life  among  these  sectaries 
lasted  till,  she  was  ten  years  old,  till  her  father  died,  a 
house-painter,  who  in  early  youth  had  been  led  into  in- 
temperance by  some  wild  companions.  She  had  often  been 
told  the  story  how  one  day  the  fumes  of  the  beer  he  had 
drunk  overpowered  him  as  he  sat  in  the  sun  on  his  derrick, 
and  that  he  had  called  upon  God  to  relieve  him  of  his 
suffering  in  the  hospital,  and  that  a  Plymouth  Brother  who 
occupied  the  next  bed  had  answered  him  ;  "  You  never 
thought  of  God  before.  Be  patient,  your  health  is  coming 
back  ;  it  is  a  gift  from  God.  You  would  like  to  know  Him 
and  thank  Him  from  the  bottom  of  your  heart  ?" 

John  Waters'  heart  was  touched  by  these  simple  words  ; 
he  became  one  of  the  Brethren,  and  his  conversion  and 
subsequent  grace  won  for  him  the  sympathies  of  Mary 
Thornby.  But  Mary's  father  would  not  consent  to  the 
marriage  unless  John  abandoned  his  dangerous  trade  of 
house -painter,  which  John  Waters  consented  to  do,  and  old 
James  Thornby,  who  had  made  a  competence  in  the  curiosity 
line,  offered  to  make  over  his  shop  to  the  young  couple 
on  certain  conditions  ;  these  conditions  were  accepted,  and 
under  his  father-in-law's  direction  John  drove  a  successful 
trade  in  old  glass,  old  jewellery,  and  old  furniture. 

The  Brethren  did  not  like  this  trade,  and  they  often 
came  to  John  to  speak  with  him  on  the  subject,  and  their 
words  were  : 


ESTHER  WATERS  25 

''  Of  course,  this  is  between  you  and  the  Lord,,  but  these 
things"  (pointing  to  the  old  glass  and  jewellery)  ^^  often 
are  but  snares  for  the  feet,  and  lead  weaker  brethren  into 
temptation.  Of  course,  it  is  between  you  and  the  Lord." 
So  John  Waters  was  tormented  with  scruples  concerning 
the  righteousness  of  his  trade,  but  his  wife's  gentle  voice 
and  eyes,  and  the  restrictions  that  his  accident,  from 
which  he  never  wholly  recovered,  set  upon  his  life,  over- 
ruled his  scruples,  and  he  remained  until  he  died  a  dealer 
in  artistic  ware,  eliminating,  however,  from  his  dealings 
those  things  to  which  the  Brethren  most  objected.  After 
his  death  his  widow  strove  to  carry  on  the  business,  but 
her  father,  who  was  now  a  confirmed  invalid,  could  not 
help  her  ;  in  the  following  year  she  lost  both  her  parents, 
and  about  this  time  many  changes  were  taking  place  in 
Barnstaple,  new  houses  were  being  built,  a  much  larger 
and  finer  shop  had  been  opened  in  the  more  prosperous 
end  of  the  town,  and  Mrs.  Waters  found  herself  obliged  to 
sell  her  business  for  almost  nothing,  and  marry  again. 
This  second  marriage  proved  more  fruitful  than  the  first, 
children  were  born  in  rapid  succession,  the  cradle  was 
never  empty,  and  Esther  was  spoken  of  as  the  little  nurse. 
But  her  great  care  was  for  her  poor  mother,  who  had  lost 
her  health,  whose  blood  was  impoverished  by  constant 
child-bearing,  and  mother  and  daughter  were  often  seen 
in  the  evenings,  one  with  a  baby  at  her  breast,  the  other 
with  an  eighteen  months'  old  child  in  her  arms.  Esther 
did  not  dare  leave  her  mother ;  and  to  protect  her  against 
her  stepfather  she  gave  up  school,  and  this  was  why  she 
had  never  learnt  how  to  read. 

One  of  the  many  causes  of  quarrel  between  Mrs.  Saunders 
and  her  husband  was  her  attendance  at  prayer-meetings, 
when  he  said  she  should  be  at  home  minding  her  children. 
He  used  to  rail  at  her,  saying  she  carried  on  with  the 
Scripture-readers,  and  to  punish  her  he  would  say,  "  This 


26  ESTHER  WATERS 

week  I'll  spend  five  bob  more  in  the  public — that'll  teach 
you^  if  beating  won't,  that  I  don't  want  none  of  your 
hypocritical  folk  hanging  round  my  place."  The  father's 
drinking  left  the  Saunders  family  with  little  to  eat ;  once 
they  were  nearly  thirty  hours  without  food,  and  it  was 
often  in  Esther's  thoughts  how  her  mother  called  her  little 
tribe  about  her,  and,  kneeling  down  amongst  them,  she 
had  prayed  that  God  might  help  them.  Their  prayers  were 
answered,  for  at  half-past  twelve  a  Scripture  lady  came  in 
with  flowers  in  her  hands,  and  asked  Mrs.  Saunders  how 
her  appetite  was.  Mrs.  Saunders  answered  that  it  was 
more  than  she  could  afford,  for  there  was  nothing  to  eat  in 
the  house.  And  then  the  Scripture  lady  gave  them 
eighteenpence,  and  they  all  knelt  down  again  and  thanked 
God  together. 

But  although  Saunders  spent  a  great  deal  of  his  money 
in  the  public-house,  he  rarely  got  drunk,  and  always  kept 
his  employment.  He  was  a  painter  of  engines,  a  first-rate 
hand,  earning  good  money,  from  twenty-five  to  thirty 
shillings  a  week — a  proud  man,  but  so  avaricious  that  he 
stopped  at  nothing  to  get  money,  selling  his  vote  to  the 
highest  bidder  at  elections,  and  when  Esther  was  seven- 
teen he  drove  her  into  service,  without  a  thought  of  the 
character  of  the  people  or  of  what  the  place  was  like. 
They  were  then  in  London,  living  in  a  little  street  off  the 
Vauxhall  Bridge  Road,  near  the  factory  where  Saunders 
worked  ;  and  since  they  had  been  in  London,  Esther  had 
been  constantly  in  service  in  many  different  lodging- 
houses,  many  of  them  of  immoral  character,  for  she  couldn't 
pick  and  choose— she  wasn't  wanted  at  home,  not  being 
one  of  his  children,  and  he  had  quite  enough  of  his  own. 
Sometimes  of  an  evening  her  mother  would  step  round 
to  fetch  her,  and  mother  and  daughter,  wrapped  in  the 
same  shawl,  would  walk  to  and  fro  telling  each  other  their 
troubles,  just  as  in  old  times.     But  these  moments  were 


ESTHER  WATERS  27 

few,  for  to  get  her  living  she  had  to  work  from  early 
morning  till  late  at  night,  scrubbing  grates,  preparing  bacon 
and  eggs,  cooking  chops  and  making  beds  :  she  was  one  of 
the  many  London  girls  to  whom  rest,  not  to  say  pleasure, 
is  unknown,  and  who,  if  they  should  sit  down  for  a  few 
moments,  hear  the  mistress's  voice,  crying :  "  Now,  Eliza, 
have  you  nothing  to  do,  that  you  are  sitting  there  idle  ?" 
Two  of  her  mistresses,  one  after  the  other,  had  been  sold 
up,  and  now  all  the  rooms  in  the  neighbourhood  were  un- 
let, no  one  wanted  a  ^'slavey."  Esther  had  to  return 
home,  and  it  was  on  the  last  of  these  occasions  that  her 
father  had  taken  her  by  the  shoulders,  saying  ; 

"  No  lodging-houses  that  want  a  slavey  ?  I'll  see  about 
that.     Tell  me,  first,  have  j^ou  been  to  78  ?" 

'^^Yes,  but  another  girl  was  before  me,  and  the  place 
was  taken  when  I  got  there." 

'^  I  wonder  what  you  was  doing  that  you  didn't  get 
there  sooner ;  dangling  about  after  your  mother,  I  suppose  ! 
Well,  what  about  27  in  the  Crescent  ?" 

^'  I  couldn't  go  there — that  Mrs.  Dunbar  is  a  bad  woman." 

"  Bad  woman  !  Who  are  you,  I  should  like  to  know,  that 
you  can  take  a  lady's  character  away  ?  Who  told  you  she 
was  a  bad  woman?  One  of  the  Scripture-readers,  I  suppose  ! 
I  knew  it  was.     Well,  then,  just  get  out  of  my  house." 

"  Where  shall  I  go  ?" 

"  Go  to  hell  for  all  I  care.    Do  you  hear  me  ?    Get  out !" 

Esther  did  not  move — words,  and  then  blows.  Her 
escape  from  her  stepfather  seemed  a  miracle,  and  his 
anger  was  only  appeased  by  Mrs.  Saunders  promising  that 
Esther  should  accept  the  situation. 

"Only  for  a  little  while.  Perhaps  Mrs.  Dunbar  is  a 
better  woman  than  you  think  for,  dearie.  For  my  sake. 
If  you  don't,  he  may  kill  you  and  me  too." 

Esther  looked  at  her  one  moment,  then  she  said,  "  Very 
well,  mother,  to-morrow  I'll  take  the  place." 


28  ESTHER  WATERS 

And  seeing  that  she  was  a  good  girl_,  Mrs.  Dunbar 
respected  her  scruples  and  was  kind  to  Esther,  who  learnt 
to  like  her,  and,  through  her  affection  for  her,  to  think  less 
of  the  life  she  led.  And  it  was  at  this  critical  moment  that 
Lady  Elwin  heard  her  story,  and  promised  Mrs.  Saunders 
to  find  Esther  another  place  ;  and  to  obviate  all  difficulties 
about  references  and  character,  proposed  to  take  Esther 
as  her  own  servant  for  time  enough  to  justify  a  recom- 
mendation. 

And  now,  as  Esther  turned  over  her  books — books  which 
she  could  not  read — her  pure,  religious  mind  recalled  the 
story  of  her  life  :  her  poor  little  brothers  and  sisters  and  her 
dear  mother,  and  that  tyrant  revenging  himself  upon  them 
because  of  the  little  she  might  eat  and  drink.  But  her 
troubles  seemed  small  compared  with  those  she  would 
endure  were  she  to  return  home.  Yet  her  heart  strained 
for  departure.  At  home  there  was  her  mother  and  the 
meeting-house,  but  in  Woodview  there  M^as  only  Margaret, 
who  had  just  come  to  beg  her  to  return  to  the  kitchen. 
Margaret  was  kind,  and,  turning  aside  to  quench  her  tears, 
Esther  answered  she  would  follow  her  down. 

Two  or  three  days  passed  without  anything  happening 
that  seemed  to  point  to  staying  or  going.  Mrs.  Barfield 
-would  like  her  or  dislike  her — that  was  according  to  her 
luck — and  reports  continued  to  come  down  of  the  missus's 
health  (she  was  confined  to  her  room  with  a  cold),  and 
with  them  gossip  that  heartened  Esther,  who  one  day, 
while  at  work  in  the  scullery,  heard  the  Saint's  voice 
in  the  kitchen — it  seemed  to  her  to  ring  truth  ;  it 
inspired  hope  in  Esther  till  her  heart  began  to  beat 
faster  and  she  held  her  breath  ;  for  Mrs.  Barfield  was 
telling  Mrs.  Latch  that  this  Avas  the  third  kitchen-maid 
in  four  months,  and  that  she  must  make  up  her  mind  to 
bear  with  "  what's-her-name  ?" — Esther  Waters's  faults  and 
failings  whatever  they  were.     Mrs.  Latch  gave  back  some 


ESTHER  WATERS  29 

sullen  answers  under  cover  of  a  great  rattling  of  saucepans ; 
Esther  heard  Mrs.  Barfield  call  her,  and  a  moment  after 
found  herself  face-to-face  with  a  little  red-haired  woman, 
with  a  pretty,  pointed  face. 

"  I  hear.  Waters— that  is  your  name,  I  think— that  you 
refused  to  obey  cook,  and  walked  out  of  the  kitchen  the 
night  you  arrived." 

"I  said,  ma'am,  that  I  would  wait  till  my  box  came 
up  from  the  station,  so  that  I  might  change  my  dress. 
Mrs.  Latch  said  my  dress  didn't  matter,  but  when  one  is 
poor  and  hasn't  many  dresses " 

^'  Are  you  short  of  clothes,  then  ?" 

"  I  have  not  many,  ma'am,  and  the  dress  I  had  on  the 
day  I  came " 

'^  Never  mind  about  that.  Tell  me,  are  you  short  of 
clothes  ?— for  if  you  are  I  daresay  my  daughter  might  find 
you  something — you  are  about  the  same  height — with  a 
little  alteration " 

''  Oh,  ma'am,  you  are  too  good.  I  shall  be  most  grateful. 
But  I  think  I  shall  be  able  to  manage  till  my  first  quarter's 
wages  come  to  me." 

Mrs.  Barfield's  eyes  and  voice  awoke  in  Esther  a  sense 
of  kinship,  and  all  that  day  she  moved  about  her  work 
happy,  singing  to  herself  as  she  washed  the  cauliflowers 
and  peeled  the  potatoes.  If  she  could  only  win  over  Mrs. 
Latch  !  Even  this  wouldn't  be  impossible,  Margaret  said, 
if  Esther  gave  up  her  beer—"  a  solid  pint  a  day  will  soften 
her"  ;  and  Esther  answered,  "She  can  have  my  beer  and 
welcome." 

"You'll  be  friends  yet,  I  can  see,  for  you're  a  worker 
like  herself  The  old  thing  can't  rest  a  minute.  Her 
last  kitchen-maid  said  to  her,  '  I  don't  mind  telling  you, 
Mrs.  Latch,  that  I'm  not  like  you.  1  don't  like  work,  and 
I  hope  I  never  shall.'  " 

"Well,    she   had   a   cheek,   and    no   mistake,"    Esther 


30  ESTHER  WATERS 

answered  ;  and  she  felt  she  had  a  friend  in  Margaret,  which 
she  had,  though  Margaret  seemed  to  make  common  cause 
sometimes  with  Grover  and  Sarah,  teasing  Esther  about 
her  morning  and  evening  prayers,  which  she  could  not 
forgo.  But  there  was  no  spite  in  her  quizzes,  and  Esther 
felt  that  while  seeming  to  make  a  mock  of  her  she  was 
defending  her — warding  off  strokes  or  allowing  them  to 
fall  lightly. 

Sometimes  Margaret  helped  her  with  her  work,  which 
Mrs.  Latch  seemed  to  make  as  heavy  as  possible ;  but 
Esther  was  now  determined  to  remain  in  Woodview  till 
she  learned  to  make  jellies  and  gravies.  Mrs.  Latch,  how- 
ever, seemed  to  have  guessed  what  was  in  her  mind,  and 
was  sure  to  find  some  saucepans  that  had  not  been 
sufficiently  cleaned  with  white  sand  ;  and  if  these  were 
lacking,  she  would  send  Esther  upstairs  to  scrub  out  her 
bedroom. 

"I  can't  think  why  she  is  so  down  on  me,"  Esther  often 
said  to  Margaret. 

"She's  not  more  down  on  you  than  she  was  on  the 
others  ;  but  you  can  put  it  out  of  your  head  that  she's  going 
to  learn  you  cooking.  She  isn't  going  to  see  one  of  her 
kitchen-maids  take  her  place,  and  it's  only  natural.  But 
I  don't  see  why  she  should  always  be  sending  you  upstairs 
to  clean  out  her  bedroom.  If  Grover  wasn't  so  stand-offish 
we  might  tell  her  about  it,  and  she  would  tell  the  Saint — 
that's  what  we  calls  the  missus — and  the  Saint  would  soon 
put  a  stop  to  all  that  nonsense.  I'll  say  this  for  the  Saint, 
that  she  do  like  everyone  to  have  fair  play.  One  of  your 
lot,  you  know,  Esther." 

"  A  Plymouth  Sister  !"  Esther  cried.  All  the  instincts 
of  her  mind  came  together,  and  in  a  moment  of  intense 
collectedness  she  heard  her  mistress's  story. 

Mrs.  Barfield  was  the  daughter  of  one  of  the  farmers  on 
the  estate — an  old  man,  Elliot  by  name. 


ESTHER  WATERS  31 

'^  He  don't  often  come  down  'ere,  but  we  sees  'im  when 
we  go  out  on  the  hill-side  of  an  evening,  his  long  black 
coat  buttoned  tightly  about  him,  his  soft  felt  hat  crushed 
down  over  his  thin  grey  face.  He  don't  come  down  'ere 
on  account  of  the  'orses,  and  it's  said  that  he  never  liked 
the  marriage,  though  it  was  to  the  Manor  House  his 
daughter  was  going.  But  he  couldn't  help  'isself,  for  the 
Squire — the  Gaffer  as  we  calls  'im — was  dead  set  on  Miss 
Elliot.  You  can't  keep  a  landlord  off  his  own  land,  nor 
ycu  can't  keep  your  own  daughter  always  within  doors  ; 
and  so  the  two  of  them  used  to  meet  beyond  the  barn, 
and  a  familiar  sight  they  were  walking  through  the  furse 
together,  the  Gaffer  leading  his  cob  and  she  by  his  side. 
I  don't  know  how  much  truth  there  is  in  the  story,  but  it 
was  said  that  one  evening  old  Elliot  and  the  Squire  came 
to  words,  and  very  nearly  to  something  more  than  words. 
One  of  the  shepherds  tells  that  he  seed  the  old  fellow  raise 
his  stick.  Mayhap,  but  the  end  of  it  was  that  the  Squire 
promised  to  become  one  of  the  Brethren,  and  never  to  bet 
again  or  to  own  racehorses,  and  the  stables  was  to  be  done 
away  with.  The  Gaffer  was  then  a  farmer  'imself,  holding 
his  land  from  his  father ;  and  the  old  folk  tried  to  break  off 
the  match,  for  they  were  anxious  to  be  well  in  with  the 
county — a  thing  that  they  never  could  be,  for  you  see  the 
Barfields  were  not  county  from  the  beginning.  They  only 
became  county  three  generations  ago.  Before  that  they 
were  in  trade — livery  stable-keepers,  it  was  said.  So  you 
see  it's  a  see-saw,  up  and  down,  and  no  more  than  that." 

"  But  the  Gaffer  didn't  keep  his  promise,"  Esther  said. 

"  He  kept  his  promise  as  long  as  he  could.  The  racing 
came  back ;  but  how  it  came  back  I  can't  tell  you.  Nobody 
knows  that  but  Mr.  Leopold.  Only  he  can  tell  you.  I've 
heard  him  say  that  when  the  Saint  heard  that  the  Gaffer 
entered  one  of  his  hunters  in  the  Hunt  Steeplechase 
(that's   how   it  begun),  she  was   broken-hearted.     But   a 


52  ESTHER  WATERS 

Avoman's  bound  to  stand  by  her  husband.  So  EUiot  just 
sends  a  cheque  for  his  rent^  and  the  Saint  goes  over  to  see 
her  father  sometimes,  and  the  Gaffer  never  interferes  with 
the  prayer-meetings.    What  are  you  thinking  now,  Esther  ?" 

Esther  was  thinking  that  her  mistress's  Kfe  was  Hke  her 
own  in  many  ways,  but  she  was  not  moved  to  confide 
her  story  to  Margaret.  She  wished  to  ponder  on  all  she 
had  heard,  and  looked  forward  to  the  moment  when  Mrs. 
Barfield  would  ask  her  some  question  that  would  allow  her 
to  say,  "I'm  a  Plymouth  Sister,  ma'am."  Margaret  had 
told  her  that  one  of  Saint's  rules  was  to  have  the  women- 
servants  for  half  an  hour  every  Sunday  afternoon  in  the 
library  for  instruction  in  the  life  of  Christ. 

Although  nearly  fifty,  her  figure  was  slight  as  a  young 
girl's,  and  Esther  was  attracted  by  the  little  ovai  face — 
reddish  hair  growing  thin  at  the  parting  and  smoothed  back 
above  the  ears,  as  in  an  old  engraving.  When  their  eyes  met 
at  prayers  there  was  acknowledgment  of  religious  kinship. 
A  glow  of  happiness  filled  Esther's  soul,  for  she  knew  she 
was  no  longer  wholly  among  strangers  ;  she  knew  they  were 
united — she  and  her  mistress — under  the  sweet  dominion 
of  Christ.  She  couldn't  take  her  eyes  off  Mrs.  Barfield 
so  much  did  she  remind  her  of  her  pious  childhood 
in  the  old  shop,  and,  listening  to  the  beautiful  storj^,  in 
the  annunciation  of  which  her  life  had  grown  up,  she 
answered  her  mistress's  questions  in  sweet  light-hearted- 
ness  of  spirit,  pleasing  her  with  her  knowledge  of  the 
Holy  Book.  Turn  and  turn  about  the  servants  had  to 
read  verses  aloud  from  the  New  Testament,  and  Esther 
saw  that  her  secret  M'ould  be  torn  from  her.  Sarah  had 
read  a  verse,  and  Mrs.  Barfield  had  explained  it,  and  now 
Margaret  was  reading.  Esther  listened,  thinking  if  she 
might  plead  illness  and  escape  from  the  room ;  but  she 
could  not  summon  sufficient  presence  of  mind,  and  while 
she  was  still  agitated  and  debatmg  within  herself,  Mrs. 


ESTHER  WATERS  S3 

Barfield  called  to  her  to  continue.     She  hung  down  he 
head,  suffocated  with  the  shame  of"  the  exposure,  and  when 
Mrs.  Barfield  told  her  again  to  continue  the  reading  Esther 
shook  her  head. 

"Can't  you  read,  Esther?"  she  heard  a  kind  voice 
saying ;  and  the  sound  of  this  voice  loosed  the  feelings 
long  pent  up,  and  the  girl,  giving  way  utterly,  burst  into 
passionate  weeping.  She  was  alone  with  her  suffering, 
conscious  of  nothing  else,  until  a  kind  hand  led  her  from 
the  room,  and  this  hand  soothed  away  the  bitterness  of  the 
tittering  which  reached  her  ears  as  the  door  closed.  It 
was  hard  to  persuade  her  to  speak,  but  even  the  first 
words  showed  that  there  was  more  on  the  girl's  heart  than 
could  be  told  in  a  few  minutes,  so  Mrs.  Barfield  dismissed 
the  other  servants  and  returned  to  the  library  with  Esther, 
and  in  that  dim  room  of  little  green  sofas,  bookless  shelves, 
and  bird-cages,  the  women — mistress  and  maid — sealed 
the  bond  of  a  friendship  which  was  to  last  for  life. 

She  told  her  mistress  of  the  work  that  Mrs.  Latch 
required  of  her,  the  persecution  she  received  from  the 
other  servants,  principally  because  of  her  religion.  They 
dropped  into  talking  of  the  racehorses,  and  Esther  saw  on 
her  mistress's  face  a  look  of  grief,  that  made  clear  to  her 
the  cause  to  which  Mrs.  Barfield  traced  the  demoralization 
of  her  household. 

"  I  will  teach  you  how  to  read,  Esther.  Every  Sunday 
after  our  Bible  instruction  you  shall  remain  for  half-an- 
hour  when  the  others  have  left.     You  will  soon  learn." 

And   from    that    day   forth,   every   Sunday   afternoon, 
Mrs.  Barfield  devoted  half-an-hour  to  the  instruction  of 
her  kitchen-maid.     But  Esther  did  not  make  much  pro- 
gress, nor  did  her  diligence  seem  to  help  her,  and  Mrs.  ^. 
Barfield  ascribed  her  pupil's  slowness  to  her  own  inaptitude     j 
to  teach  and  the  little  time  for  lessons, 


34  ESTHER  WATERS 


IV. 

Esther's  position  in  Woodview  was  now  secure^  and  her 
fellow-servants  recognized  the  fact,  though  they  liked  her 
none  the  better  for  it.  Mrs.  Latch  still  did  what  she 
could  to  i^revent  her  from  learning  her  trade,  but  she  no 
longer  attempted  to  overburden  her  with  work.  Of 
Mr.  Leopold  she  saw  almost  as  little  as  she  did  of  the 
people  upstairs.  He  passed  along  the  passages  or  remained 
shut  up  in  his  pantry.  Ginger  used  to  go  there  to  smoke  ; 
and  when  the  door  stood  ajar  Esther  saw  his  narrow 
person  seated  on  the  edge  of  the  table^  his  leg  swinging. 
Among  the  pantry  people  Mr.  Leopold's  erudition  was  a 
constant  subject  of  admiration.  His  reminiscences  of  the 
races  of  thirty  years  ago  were  full  of  interest;  he  had 
seen  the  great  horses  whose  names  live  in  the  stud-book^ 
the  horses  the  Gaffer  had  owned;,  had  trained,  had  ridden^ 
and  he  was  full  of  anecdote  concerning  them  and  the 
Gaffer.  Praise  of  his  father's  horsemanship  always  caused 
a  cloud  to  gather  on  Ginger's  face^,  and  when  he  left  the 
pantry  Swindles  chuckled.  "  Whenever  I  wants  to  get  a 
rise  out  of  Ginger  I  says^  '  Ah,  we  shall  never  see  another 
gentleman  jock  who  can  use  the  whip  at  a  finish  like  the 
Governor  in  his  best  days.'  " 

Everyone  delighted  in  the  pantry,  and  to  make  Mr.  Leo- 
pold comfortable  Mr.  Swindles  used  to  bring  in  tJie  wolf- 
skin rug  that  went  out  with  the  carriage,  and  wrap  it 
round  Mr.  Leopold's  wooden  armchair,  and  the  sallow  little 
man  would  curl  himself  up,  and,  smoking  his  long  clay, 
discuss  the  weights  of  the  next  big  handicap.  If  Ginger 
contradicted  him  he  would  go  to  the  press  and  extract 
from  its  obscurity  a  package  of  Bell's  Life  or  a  file  of  the 
Spo7isma?i. 


ESTHER  WATERS  35 

Mr.  Leopold's  press  !  For  forty  years  no  one  had  looked 
into  that  press.  Mr.  Leopold  guarded  it  from  every  gaze, 
but  it  seemed  to  be  a  much-varied  repository  from  which, 
if  he  chose,  he  could  produce  almost  any  trifle  that  might  - 
be  required.  It  seemed  to  combine  the  usefulness  of  a 
hardware  shop  and  a  drug  store. 

The  pantry  had  its  etiquette  and  its  discipline.  Jockey 
boys  were  rarely  admitted,  unless  with  the  intention  of 
securing  their  services  for  the  cleaning  of  boots  or  knives. 
William  was  very  proud  of  his  right  of  entry.  For  that 
half-hour  in  the  pantry  he  would  surrender  willingly  the 
pleasure  of  walking  in  the  drove-way  with  Sarah.  But 
when  Mrs.  Latch  learnt  that  he  was  there  her  face  dark- 
ened, and  the  noise  she  then  made  about  the  range  with 
her  saucepans  was  alarming.  Mrs.  Barfield  shared  her 
cook's  fear  of  the  pantry,  and  often  spoke  of  Mr.  Leopold 
as  "that  little  man."  Although  outwardly  the  family 
butler,  he  had  never  ceased  to  be  the  Gaffer's  private 
servant;  he  represented  the  old  days  of  bachelorhood. 
Mrs.  Barfield  and  Mrs.  Latch  disliked  him.  Mrs.  Barfield 
felt  sure  her  husband  would  not  have  returned  to  racing 
had  it  not  been  for  Mr.  Leopold,  and  Mrs.  Latch  attributed 
her  husband's  downfall  to  him.  Legends  and  mystery  had 
formed  around  Mr.  Leopold  and  his  pantry,  and  in  Esther's  ^  i 
unsophisticated  mind  this  little  room,  with  its  tobacco- 
smoke  and  glasses  on  the  table,  became  a  symbol  of  all  '  I 
that  was  wicked  and  dangerous ;  and  when  she  passed  the 
door  she  closed  her  ears  and  instinctively  lowered  her  eyes. 

The  simplest  human  sentiments  were  abiding  principles  ^^ 
in  Esther — love  of  God,  and  love  of  God  in  the  home.     But^*> 
above  this  Protestantism  tvas  human  fiature  ;  her  twentieth 
year  thrilled  within  her ;  and  no  longer  half-starved,  her     / 
eyes  opened  to  the  beauty  of  the  world,  and  she  sang  at  her  ^ 
work,  gladdened  by  the  sights  and  sounds  of  the  yard,  the      ' 
young  rooks  cawing  lusMly  in  the  ilex-trees,  the  gardener 


S6  ESTHER  WATERS 

passing  to  and  fro  with  plants  in  his  hands,  the  white  cats 
licking  themselves  in  the  sun  or  funning  to  meet  the 
young  ladies  who  brought  them  plates  of  milk.  The  race- 
horses were  always  going  to  or  coming  from  the  downs. 
Sometimes  they  came  in  so  covered  with  white  mud  that 
part  of  their  toilette  was  accomplished  in  the  yard ;  and 
from  her  kitchen  window  she  could  see  the  beautiful 
animal  haltered  to  the  hook  fixed  in  the  high  wall,  and 
the  little  boy  in  his  shirt-sleeves  and  hitched-up  trousers, 
not  a  bit  afraid,  but  shouting  and  quieting  him  into  sub- 
mission with  the  stick  Avhen  he  kicked  and  bit,  tickled  by 
the  washing  brush  passing  under  the  belly.  Then  the 
wrestling,  sparring,  ball-playing  of  the  lads  when  their  work 
was  done,  and  the  pale,  pathetic  figure  of  the  Demon, 
who  was  about  to  start  for  Portslade  and  back,  wrapped, 
as  he  would  put  it,  in  a  red-hot  scorcher  of  an  overcoat. 

Esther  often  longed  for  a  romp  with  these  boys,  with 
whom  she  was  now  prime  favourite.  Once  they  caught 
her  in  the  hay  yard,  and  fine  sport  it  was  in  the  warm  hay 
throwing  each  other  over.  Sometimes  her  wayward  temper 
would  get  the  better  of  her,  but  her  momentary  rage 
,  vanished  at  the  sound  of  laughter.  And  after  their 
Lf  tussling  they  would  walk  a  little  while  pensively,  until 
perhaps  one,  with  an  adroit  trip,  would  send  the  other 
rolling  over  on  the  grass,  and  then,  with  wild  cries,  they 
all  run  down  the  drove-way.  And  there  was  the  day 
when  the  Woolgatherer  told  her  he  was  in  love;  what 
fun  they  had  had,  and  how  well  she  had  led  him  into 
belief  that  she  was  jealous.  Of  course  it  was  all  very 
wrong  to  take  a  rope  as  if  she  were  going  to  hang  herself, 
and  having  fastened  it  to  a  branch,  to  kneel  down  as  if 
she  were  sajing  her  prayers.  The  poor  Woolgatherer 
could  stand  it  no  longer ;  he  rushed  to  her  side,  swearing 
that  if  she  would  promise  not  to  hang  herself  he  would 
never  look  at  another  girl  again>     The  other  boys,  who 


ESTHER  WATERS  37 

l)ad  been  crouching  in  the  drove-way,  rose  up.  How  they 
did  mock  the  Woolgatherer  till  he  burst  into  tears,  and 
Estlier  felt  sorry  for  him,  and  almost  inclined  to  marry 
him  out  of  pity  for  his  forlorn  condition. 

Her  life  grew  happier  and  happier.     She  was  still  very 
poor,  she  had  not  sufficient  clothes,  and  her  life  was  full 
of  little  troubles,  but  there  were  compensations.     It  was 
to  her  that  Mrs.  Barfield  always  came  when  she  wanted  *  j 
anything  in  a  hurry,  and  Miss  Mary,  too,  seemed  to  prefer  W  (j 
to  apply  to  Esther  when  she  wanted  milk  for  her  cats  or   / 
bran  and  oats  for  her  rabbits. 

The  Gaffer  and  his  racehorses,  the  Saint  and  her 
greenhouse.  Miss  Mary  entertaining  her  visitors  iii 
the  drawing-room  or  on  the  tennis  lawn — so  went  the 
stream  of  life  at  Woodview.  Mrs.  Barfield  saw  no 
one,  preferring  to  remain  in  her  old  gown  —  an  old 
thing  that  her  daughter  had  discarded  long  ago — pinned 
up  around  her,  and  on  her  head  an  old  bonnet  with  a 
faded  poppy  hanging  from  the  crown.  In  such  attire  she 
wished  to  be  allowed  to  trot  about  to  and  fro  from  her 
greenhouse  to  her  potting- shed,  watering,  pruning,  and 
syringing  her  plants.  These  plants  were  dearer  than  all 
things  to  her  except  her  children;  she  seemed,  indeed^ 
to  treat  them  as  if  they  were  children,  and  with  the  sun 
pouring  through  the  glass  down  on  her  back  she  would 
sit  freeing  them  from  devouring  insects  all  the  day  long. 
She  would  carry  can  after  can  of  water  up  the  long  path 
and  never  complain  of  fatigue.  She  broke  into  complaint 
only  when  Miss  Mary  forgot  to  feed  her  pets,  of  which  she 
had  a  great  number — rabbits,  and  cats,  and  rooks — and 
all  the  work  devolved  upon  her.  She  could  not  see  these 
poor  dumb  creatures  hungry,  and  would  trudge  to  the 
stables,  coming  back  laden  with  oats  and  bran.  But  it 
was  sometimes  more  than  a  pair  of  hands  could  do,  and 
she  would  send  Esther  with  scraps  of  meat  and  bread  and 


38  ESTHER  WATERS 

milk  to  the  unfortunate  rooks  that  Mary  had  so  unmerci- 
fully forgotten.  "I'll  have  no  more  pets/'  she'd  say; 
"  Miss  Mary  won't  look  after  them,  and  all  the  trouble 
falls  upon  me.  See  these  poor  cats,  how  they  come 
mewing  round  my  skirts."  She  loved  to  expatiate  on  her 
affection  for  dumb  animals,  and  she  continued  an  anecdotal 
discourse  till,  suddenly  wearying  of  it,  she  would  break 
off  and  speak  to  Esther  about  Barnstaple  and  the  Brethren. 
The  Saint  loved  to  hear  Esther  tell  of  her  father  and 
the  little  shop  in  Barnstaple,  of  the  prayer-meetings  and 
the  simple  earnestness  and  narrowness  of  the  faith  of  those 
good  Brethren.  Circumstances  had  effaced,  though  they 
had  not  obliterated,  the  once  sharply-marked  confines  of 
her  religious  habits.  Her  religion  was  like  a  garden — a 
little  less  sedulously  tended  than  of  yore,  but  no  whit  less 

A  fondly  loved;  and  while  listening  to  Esther's  story  she 
,^  dreamed  her  own  early  life  over  again,  and  paused,  laying 
down  her  watering-can,  overcome  with  the  listlessness  of 
happy  memories.  And  so  Esther's  life  grew  and  was 
fashioned  amid  the  ceaseless  round  of  simple  daily  occupa- 
tions, mistress  and  maid  learning  to  know  and  to  love  one 

; '^  another  in  the  tender  and  ineffable  sympathies  of  race 
and  religion:^ 


V. 

The  summer  drowsed,  baking  the  turt  on  the  hills,  and 
after  every  gallop,  the  Gaffer  passed  his  fingers  along  the 
fine  legs  of  the  crack,  in  fear  and  apprehension  lest  he 
should  detect  any  swelling.  William  had  five  shillings 
on,  and  stood  to  win  five  pounds  ten — quite  a  little  fortune. 
He  often  stopped  to  ask  Esther  if  there  was  any  news  as 
he  made  his  way  to  the  pantry,  and  she  told  him  that  so 
far  as  she  knew  Silver  Braid  was  all  right,  and  continued 
shaking  the  rug. 


ESTHER  WATERS  39 

^•'  You'll  never  get  the  dust  out  of  that  rug/'  he  said  at 
last;  "here,  give  it  to  rae."  She  hesitated,  then  gave  it 
him,  and  he  beat  it  against  the  brick  wall.  "There,"  he 
said,  handing  it  back  to  her,  "  that's  how  I  beats  a  mat ; 
you  won't  find  much  dust  in  it  now." 

"Thank  you.  Sarah  went  by  an  hour  and  a  half 
ago." 

"Ah,  she  must  have  gone  to  the  Gardens.  You  have 
never  been  to  those  Gardens,  have  you?  Dancing-hall, 
theatre,  sorcerers— every  blessed  thing.  But  you're  that 
religious,  I  suppose  you  wouldn't  come  ?" 

"It  is  only  the  way  you  are  brought  up." 

"  Well,  will  you  come  ?" 

"I  don't  think  I  should  like  those  Gardens.  But  I 
daresay  they  are  no  worse  than  any  other  place.  I've 
heard  so  much  since  I  was  here,  that  really " 

"  That  really  what  ?" 

"That   sometimes   it  doesn't   seem  much  good   to  be 
particular." 
.     "  Of  course — all  rot.   Well,  will  you  come  next  Sunday  ?" 

"Certainly  not  on  Sunday. "(/ 

The  Gaffer  had  engaged  nim  as  footman :  his  livery 
would  be  ready  by  Saturday,  and  he  would  enter  service 
on  Monday  week  ;  and  this  reminded  them  that  henceforth 
they  would  see  each  other  every  day,  and,  speaking  of  the 
pain  it  would  give  his  mother  when  he  came  running 
downstairs  to  go  out  with  the  carriage,  he  said : 

"  It  was  always  her  idea  that  I  shouldn't  be  a  servant, 
but  I  believe  in  doing  what  you  gets  most  coin  for  doing. 
I  should  like  to  have  been  a  jockey,  and  I  could  have 
ridden  well  enough — the  Gaffer  thought  better  at  one 
time  of  my  riding  than  he  did  of  Ginger's.  But  I  never 
had  any  luck ;  when  I  was  about  fifteen  I  began  to  grow. 
If  I  could  have  remained  like  the  Demon " 

Esther  looked  at  him,  wondering  if  he  were  speaking 


40  ESTHER  WATERS 

seriously,  and  really  wished  away  his  splendid  height  and 
shoulders. 

A  few  days  later  he  tried  to  persuade  her  to  take  a 
ticket  in  a  shilling  sweepstakes  which  he  w^as  getting  up 
among  the  out  and  the  indoor  servants.  She  pleaded 
poverty — her  wages  would  not  be  due  till  the  end  of 
August.  But  William  offered  to  lend  her  the  money,  and 
he  pressed  the  hand  containing  the  bits  of  paper  on  which 
were  written  the  horses'  names  so  insinuatingly  upon  her 
that  a  sudden  impulse  to  oblige  him  came  over  her,  and 
before  she  had  time  to  think  she  had  put  her  hand  in  the 
hat  and  taken  a  number. 

"  Come,  none  of  your  betting  and  gambling  in  my 
kitchen,"  said  Mrs.  Latch,  turning  from  her  work.  '-Just 
you  leave  the  girl  alone." 

"  Don't  be  that  nasty,  mother ;  it  ain't  betting,  it's  a 
sweepstakes." 

^'^It  is  all  the  same,"  muttered  Mrs.  Latch  ;  ''it  always 
begins  that  way,  and  it  goes  on  from  bad  to  worse.  I 
never  saw^  any  good  come  from  it,  and  Heaven  knows  I've 
seen  enough  misfortune." 

Margaret  and  Sarah  paused,  looking  at  her  open- 
mouthed,  a  little  perplexed,  holding  the  numbers  they 
had  drawn  in  both  hands.  Esther  had  not  unfolded  hers. 
She  looked  at  Mrs.  Latch,  and  feared  jeers  from  Sarah,  and 
from  Grover,  who  had  just  come  in,  for  her  inability  to 
read  the  name  of  the  horse  she  had  drawn.  Seeing  w  hat 
was  up,  William  took  her  paper  from  her. 

^'  Silver  Braid.     By  Jingo  !    She  has  got  the  right  one." 

At  that  moment  the  sound  of  hoofs  was  heard  in  the 
yard,  and  the  servants  flew  to  the  window. 

''  He'll  win,"  cried  William,  leaning  over  the  women's 
backs,  waving  his  bony  hand  to  the  Demon,  who  rode 
past  on  Silver  Braid.  ''  The  Gaffer  will  bring  him  to  the 
post  as  fit  as  a  fiddle." 


ESTHER  WATERS  41 


(( 


I  think  he  will/'  said  Mr.  Leopold.  "  The  rain  has 
done  us  a  lot  of  good  ;  he  was  beginning  to  go  a  bit  short 
a  week  ag-o.  We  shall  want  some  more  rain.  I  should 
like  to  see  it  come  down  in  buckets  for  the  next  week  or 
more." 

Mr.  Leopold's  desires  looked  as  if  they  were  going  to  be 
fulfilled.  The  heavens  seemed  to  have  taken  the  fortunes 
of  the  stable  in  hand.  Rain  fell  generally  in  the  afternoon 
and  nightj  leaving  the  mornings  fine,  and  Silver  Braid 
went  the  mile  gaily,  becoming  harder  and  stronger.  And 
in  the  intermittent  swish  of  showers  blov/n  up  from  the 
sea,  Woodview  grew  joyous,  and  a  conviction  of  triumph 
gathered  and  settled  on  every  face  except  Mrs.  Barfield's 
and  Mrs.  Latch's.  And  askance  they  looked  at  the 
triumphant  little  butler.  He  became  more  and  more  the 
topic  of  conversation.  He  seemed  to  hold  the  thread  of 
their  destiny  in  his  press.  Peggy  was  especially  afraid  of 
him. 

And,  continuing  her  confidences  to  the  under-house- 
maid,  the  young  lady  said,  "  I  like  to  know  things  for  the 
pleasure  of  talking  about  them,  but  he  spies  around  for 
the  pleasure  of  holding  his  tongue."  Peggy  was  Miss 
Margaret  Barfield,  a  cousin,  the  daughter  of  a  rich  brewer. 
^^  If  he  brings  in  your  letters  in  the  morning  he  hands  them 
to  you  just  as  if  he  knew  whom  they  are  from.  Ugly  little 
beast ;  it  irritates  me  when  he  comes  into  the  room." 

"  He  hates  women.  Miss;  he  never  lets  us  near  his  pantry, 
and  he  keeps  William  there  talking  racing." 

"  Ah,  William  is  very  different.  He  ought  never  to 
have  been  a  servant.  His  family  was  once  quite  as  good  as 
the  Barfields." 

^'  So  I  have  heard.  Miss.  But  the  world  is  that  full  of 
ups  and  downs,  you  never  can  tell  who  is  who.  But  we  all 
likes  William,  and  'ates  that  little  man  and  his  pantry. 
Mrs.  Latch  calls  him  the  ^evil  genius.'  " 


42  ESTHER  WATERS 

A  furtive  and  clandestine  little  man,  ashamed  ot  his 
women-folk,  keeping  them  out  of  sight  as  much  as  possible, 
and  his  wife  a  pale,  dim  woman,  tall  as  he  was  short, 
preserving  still  some  of  the  graces  of  the  lady's-maid,  shy 
either  by  nature  or  by  the  severe  rule  of  her  lord,  always 
anxious  to  obliterate  herself  against  the  hedges  when  you 
met  her  in  the  lane,  or  against  the  pantry  door  when  any 
of  the  family  knocked  to  ask  for  hot  Mater,  or  camci  with  a 
letter  for  the  post.  And  by  nature  a  bachelor,  he  was  in- 
stinctively ashamed  of  his  family,  for  when  the  weary- 
looking  wife,  the  thin,  shy  girl,  or  the  corpulent,  flat-faced 
son  were  with  him  and  he  heard  steps  outside,  he  would 
come  out  like  a  little  wasp,  and,  unmistakably  resenting 
the  intrusion,  would  ask  what  was  wanted. 

If  it  were  Ginger,  Mr.  Leopold  would  say,  ''  Can  I  do 
anything  for  you,  Mr.  Arthur?" 

"  Oh,  nothing,  thank  you  ;  I  only  thought  that "  and 

Ginger  would  invent  some  paltry  excuse  and  slink  away  to 
smoke  elsewhere. 

Every  day,  a  Uttle  before  twelve,  Mr.  Leopold  went  out 
for  his  morning  walk  ;  every  day,  if  it  were  fine,  you  would 
meet  him  at  that  hour  in  the  lane  either  coming  from  or 
going  to  Shoreham.  For  thirty  years  he  had  done  his 
little  constitutional,  always  taking  the  same  road,  always 
starting  within  a  few  minutes  of  twelve,  always  returning 
in  time  to  lay  the  cloth  for  lunch  at  half-past  one.  The 
hour  between  twelve  and  one  he  spent  in  the  cottage 
which  he  rented  from  the  squire  for  his  wife  and  children, 
or  in  the  "  Red  Lion,"  where  he  had  a  glass  of  beer  and 
talked  with  Watkins,  the  bootmaker. 

"  There  he  goes,  off  to  the  '  Red  Lion,'  "  said  Mrs. 
Latch.  "They  try  to  get  some  information  out  of  him,  but 
he's  too  sharp  for  them,  and  he  knows  it ;  that's  what  he 
goes  there  for — just  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  them 
swallow  the  lies  he  tells  them.     He  has  been  telling  them 


ESTHER  WATERS  4S 

lies  about  the  horses  for  the  last  twenty  years,  and  still  he 
gets  them  to  believe  what  he  says.  It  is  a  cruel  shame  ! 
It  was  the  lies  he  told  poor  Jackson  about  Blue  Beard  that 
made  the  poor  man  back  the  horse  for  all  he  was  worth." 

"And  the  horse  didn't  win  ?'' 

"  Win  !  The  master  didn't  even  intend  to  run  him,  and 
Jackson  lost  all  he  had,  and  more.  He  went  down  to  the 
river  and  drow^ned  himself.  John  Randal  has  that  man's 
death  on  his  conscience.  But  his  conscience  don't  trouble 
him  much  :  if  it  did,  he'd  be  in  his  grave  long  ago.  Lies, 
lies,  nothing  but  lies!  But  I  daresay  I'm  too  'ard  on  him; 
isn't  lies  our  natural  lot  ?  What  is  servants  for  but  to  lie 
when  it  is  in  their  master's  interests,  and  to  be  a  confiden- 
tial servant  is  to  be  the  Prince  of  liars  !" 

"  Perhaps  he  didn't  know  the  'orse  was  scratched." 

"  I  see  you  are  falling  in  nicely  with  the  lingo  of  the 
trade." 

"Oh,"  replied  Esther,  laughing;  "one  never  hears  any- 
thing else  ;  one  picks  it  up  without  knowing.  Mr.  Leopold 
is  very  rich,  so  they  say.  The  boys  tell  me  that  he  Vv^on  a 
pile  over  the  City  and  Suburban,  and  has  thousands  in  the 
bank." 

"  So  some  says ;  but  who  knoAvs  what  he  'as  ?  One  hears 
of  the  winnings,  but  they  says  very  little  about  the  losings," 


VL 

The  pony  and  the  donkey  came  towards  the  paddock 
gate,  and  she  rubbed  their  muzzles  in  turn.  It  was  a 
pleasure  to  touch  anything,  especially  anything  alive.  She 
even  noticed  that  the  elm-trees  w^ere  strangely  tall  and 
still  against  the  calm  sky,  and  the  rich  odour  of  some 
carnations,  which  came  through  the  bushes  from  the 
pleasure-ground,    excited    her ;   the   scent   of    earth    and 


44  ESTHER  WATERS 

leaves  tingled  in  her,  the  cawing  of  the  rooks  coming  horue^ 
took  her  soul  away  skyward  in  an  exquisite  longing ;  and 
^he  was,  at  the  same  time,  full  of  a  romantic  love  for  the 

^/earth,  and  of  a  desire  to  mix  herself  with  the  innermost 
'  essence  of  things.  The  beauty  of  the  evening  and  the 
sea  breeze  instilled  a  sensation  of  immortal  health,  setting 
her  thinking  that  if  a  young  man  came  to  her  as  young 
men  came  to  the  great  ladies  in  Sarah's  books,  it  would  be 
pleasant  to  talk  in  the  dusk,  seeing  the  bats  flitting  about 
the  barns  and  byres  vanishing  into  nothingness. 

The  family  was  absent  from  Woodview^  and  she  was  free 
to  enjoy  the  beauty  of  every  twilight  and  every  rising 
moon  for  still  another  week.  But  she  wearied  for  a 
companion.  The  boys  were  playing  ball  in  the  stables,  but 
she  did  not  feel  as  if  she  wanted  to  romp  with  them. 
Sarah  and  Grover  were  far  too  grand  to  walk  out  with  her; 
and  Margaret  had  a  young  man  who  came  to  fetch  her, 
and  in  their  room  at  night  she  related  all  he  had  said. 
But  for  Esther  there  was  nothing  to  do  all  the  long 
summer  evenings  but  to  sit  at  the  kitchen  window  sewing. 
Her  hands  fell  on  her  lap,  and  her  heart  heaved  a  sigh  of 
weariness.  In  all  this  world  there  w^as  nothing  for  her  to 
do  but  to  continue  her  sewing  or  to  go  for  a  walk  up  the 
hill.  She  was  tired  of  that  hill !  But  she  could  not  sit  in 
the  kitchen  till  bedtime,  and  thinking  that  she  might 
meet  the  old  shepherd  coming  home  with  his  sheep,  she 
put  a  piece  of  bread  in  her  pocket  for  his  dogs  and  strolled 
up  the  hillside.  Margaret  had  gone  down  to  the  Gardens 
with  her  j'oung  man,  and  one  of  these  days  a  young  man 
would  come  to  take  her  out.  Now  what  would  he  be 
like  ?     She  laughed  the  thought  away  for  it  did  not  seem 

-;  likely  that  any  young  man  would  bother  about  her.     But 
■  at  that  moment,  she  saw  a  man  coming  through  the  hunt- 
ing gate.     His  height  and  shoulders  told  her  that  he  was 
William.     "  Trying  to  find  Sarah,"  she  thought.     "  I  must 


ESTHER  WATERS  45 

not  let  him  think  I  am  waiting  for  him."  And  she  con- 
tinued her  walk,  wondering  if  he  were  following,  afraid  to 
look  round.  At  last  she  began  to  hear  footsteps  ;  her 
heart  beat  faster  and  seemed  to  stand  still  when  he  called 
to  her. 

^' I  think  Sarah  has  gone  to  the  Gardens,"  she  said, 
turning  round. 

"  You  always  keep  rubbing  it  in  about  Sarah  !  There's 
nothing  between  us,  or  anything  there  ever  was  is  all  off 
long  ago.     Are  you  going  for  a  walk  on  the  downs  ?" 

She  was  glad  of  the  chance  to  get  a  mouthful  of  fresh 
air,  and  William  held  the  hunting  gate  open,  which  she 
had  never  been  through  before,  and  was  surprised  to  find 
herself  in  front  of  so  much  wild  country  :  two  great  ranges 
of  downs — the  Shoreham  Downs  in  front  of  them,  rising 
up  hill  after  hill  as  if  the  earth  had  once  aspired  to  reach 
the  sky  ;  the  Worthing  range,  some  miles  away,  over 
against  the  great  shallow  valley  of  the  Adur,  full  of  green 
water  meadows  and  long  herds  of  cattle. 

There  was  a  smell  of  sheep  in  the  air,  and  the  fiock 
trotted  past  them  in  good  order,  followed  by  the  shepherd, 
with  a  huge  hat  on  his  head,  a  crook  in  his  hand,  and  two 
shaggy  dogs  at  his  heels.  A  brace  of  partridges  rose  out  of 
the  sainfoin,  and  flew  down  the  hills ;  and  watching  their 
curving;  flight  Esther  and  William  saw  the  sea  under  the 
sun-setting  and  the  string  of  coast  towns. 

"A  lovely  evening,  isn't  it?" 

Esther  acquiesced  ;  and  tempted  by  the  warmth  of  the 
grass  they  sat  down. 

''We  shan't  have  any  rain  yet  awhile." 

''  How  do  you  know  '■" 

"I'll  tell  you,"  W^illiam  answered,  eager  to  show  his 
superior  knowledge.  '^  Look  due  south-west,  straight 
through  that  last  dip  in  them  line  of  hills.  Do  you  see 
anything?" 


46  ESTHER  WATERS 

"Noj  I  can't  see  nothing/'  said  Esther,  after  straining 
her  eyes  for  a  few  moments. 

"I  thought  not.  .  .  .  Well,  if  it  was  going  to  rain 
you'd  see  the  Isle  of  Wight." 

For  something  to  say,  and  hoping  to  please,  Esther 
asked  him  where  the  racecourse  was. 

"  Over  yonder.  I  can't  show  you  the  start,  a  long 
way  behind  that  hill,  Portslade  way  ;  and  then  they  come 
right  along  by  that  gorse  and  finish  up  by  Truly  barn. 
You  can't  see  Truly  barn  from  here — that's  Thunder's 
barrow  barn;  they  go  quite  half  a  mile  farther." 

"  And  do  all  that  land  belong  to  the  Gaffer  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  a  great  deal  more,  too ;  but  this  downland 
isn't  worth  much — not  more  than  about  ten  shillings  an 
acre." 

"And  how  many  acres  are  there  ?" 

"  Do  you  mean  all  that  we  can  see  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  The  Gaffer's  property  reaches  to  South  wick  Hill,  and 
it  goes  north  a  long  way.  I  suppose  you  don't  know  that 
all  this  piece,  all  that  lies  between  us  and  that  barn  yonder, 
once  belonged  to  my  family." 

"To  your  family?" 

"'  Yes,  the  Latches  were  once  big  swells ;  in  the  time 
of  my  great-grandfather  the  Barfields  couldn't  hold  their 
heads  as  high  as  the  Latches.  My  great-grandfather  had 
a  pot  of  money,  but  it  all  went." 

"  Racing .'" 

"'  A  good  bit,  I've  no  doubt.  A  rare  ard  liver,  cock- 
fighting,  'unting,  'orse-racing  from  one  year's  end  to  the 
other.  Then  after  'im  came  my  grandfather ;  he  went  to 
the  law,  and  a  sad  mess  he  made  of  it — went  stony-broke 
and  left  my  father  without  a  sixpence  ;  that  is  why  mother 
didn't  want  me  to  go  into  livery.  The  family  'ad  been 
coming  down  for  generations,  and  mother  thought  that 


ESTHER  WATERS  4-7 

I  was  bom  to  restore  it;  and  so  I  was,  but  not  as  she 
thought,  by  carrying  parcels  up  and  down  the  Khig's 
Road." 

Esther  looked  at  William  in  silent  admiration,  and, 
feeling  that  he  had  secured  an  appreciative  listener,  he 
continued  his  monologue  regarding  the  wealth  and  rank 
his  family  had  formerly  held,  till  a  heavy  dew  forced  them 
to  their  feet,  and  they  followed  the  paths  through  the 
furze,  stopping  to  listen  to  a  nightingale  in  the  coombe 
below. 

'^  In  that  thorn-tree  over  yonder — don't  you  see  ?"  he 
said. 

The  coast  began  to  light  up  soon  after,  and  William 
pointed  out  Brighton,  Portslade,  Southwick,  Shoreham, 
Lancing,  and  Worthing. 

The  sheep  had  been  folded,  and  seeing  them  lymg 
between  the  wattles,  the  greyness  of  this  hillside,  and 
beyond  them  the  massive  moonlit  landscape  and  the  vague 
sea,  Esther  suddenly  became  aware,  as  she  had  never  done 
before,  of  the  evpppdincr  beauty  of  tha-imrld.  Looking 
up  in  William's  face,  she  said — 
"  Oh,  how  beautiful !" 

As  they  descended  the  drove-way  their  feet  raised  the 
chalk,  and  William  said — 

"  This  is  bad  for  Silver  Braid ;  we  shall  want  some  more 
rain  in  a  day  or  two.  Let's  come  for  a  walk  round  the 
farm,"  he  said  suddenly.  "The  farm  belongs  to  the 
Gaffer,  but  he's  let  the  Lodge  to  a  young  fellow  called 
Johnson.  He's  the  chap  that  Peggy  used  to  go  after- 
there  was  awful  rows  about  that,  and  worse  when  he 
forestalled  die  Gafter  about  Egmont." 

He  turned  from  Johnson  into  the  story  of  the  chap  who 
had  jilted  Miss  Mary,  and  the  various  burlesque  actresses 
at  the  Shoreham  Gardens  that  Ginger  had  been  after  ; 
and  these  stories,  which  she  only  half  understood,  conveyed 


48  ESTHER  WATERS 

a  sense  of  liberation.  She  had  never  been  happy  before  ; 
and  now  it  seemed  that  she  could  never  be  unhappy  again, 
and  while  wondering  how  this  great  change  had  come  about, 
she  listened  to  William,  who  was  showing  her  the  pigeon- 
house  with  all  the  birds  dozing  on  the  tiles,  a  blue  one 
here  and  there ;  they  visited  the  workshop,  the  forge,  and 
the  old  cottages  where  the  bailiff  and  the  shepherd  lived ; 
and  everything  was  so  wonderful  that  it  seemed  as  if 
she  had  been  asleep  all  the  while  and  had  only  just 
awakened.  They  regained  the  high-road  soon  after  ;  the 
downs  and  sea  came  into  sight,  and  Esther,  her  eyes  fixed 
on  the  long  marshlands  of  the  foreshore,  walked  listeiiing 
to  William  who  had  returned  to  his  projects  for  his  advance- 
ment in  life.  At  last  they  came  to  a  stile  leading  into  a 
cornfield  by  a  little  wood  in  which  a  nightingale  was  sing- 
ing. It  took  some  searching  to  find  him,  for  he  had  not 
chosen  any  of  the  trees  for  his  perch  but  a  lowly  hedge, 
which  seemed  strange  to  Esther  but  not  to  William,  who 
said,  "  he's  not  singing  for  us  but  for  the  little  mate  in  her 
nest."  He  struck  a  match,  putting  the  music  to  flight,  and 
all  along  the  white  road  William  continued  his  monologue, 
interrupted  only  by  the  necessity  of  puffing  at  his  pipe. 

''  Mother  says  that  if  I  had  twopence  worth  of  pride  in 

me  I  wouldn't  have  consented  to  put  on  the  livery ;  but 

what  I  says  to  mother  is,  '  What's  the  use  of  having  pride 

/K   if  you  haven't  money  ?*     I  tells  her  that  I  am  rotten  with 

,     pride,  but  my  pride  is  to  make  money.     I  can't  see  that 

y^  the  man  what's  willing  to  remain  poor  all  his  life  has  any 
pride  at  all.     But,  Lord  !   I  have  argued  with  mother  till 

\^    I'm  sick;  she  can  see  nothing  further  than  the  livery; 

^'  that's  what  women  are — they  are  that  short-sighted.  A 
lot  of  good  it  would  have  done  me  to  carry  parcels 
all  my  life,  and,  when  I  could  do  four  mile  an  hour  no 
more,  to  be  turned  out  to  die  in  the  ditch  and  be  buried 
Ly  the  parish.     '  Xot  good   enough,'   says   I.     ^If  that's 


ESTHER  Wx\TERS  49 

your  pride,  mother,  you  may  put  it  in  your  pipe  and  smoke 
it,  and  as  you  'aven't  got  a  pipe,  perhaps  behind  the  oven 
will  do  as  well ' — that's  what  I  said  to  her.  I  saw  well 
enough  there  was  nothing  for  me  but  service,  and  I  means 
to  stop  here  until  I  can  get  on  three  or  four  good  things 
and  then  retire  into  a  nice  comfortable  public- house  and 
do  my  own  betting." 

"  You'd  give  up  betting,  then  ?" 

"  I'd  give  up  backing  'orses,  for  what  I'd  like  to  do 
would  be  to  get  on  to  a  dozen  good  things  at  long  prices — 
half-a-dozen  like  Silver  Braid  would  do  it.  For  a  thousand 
or  fifteen  hundred  pounds  I  could  have  the  ^  Red  Lion,' 
and  just  inside  my  own  bar  I  could  do  a  hundred-pound 
book  on  all  the  big  races." 

She  listened  just  as  if  she  understood,  for  it  mattered  to 
her  little  what  he  talked  so  long  as  he  was  talking  to  her. 
She  heard  references  to  jockeys,  publicans,  weights,  odds, 
and  the  certainty,  if  he  had  the  "  Red  Lion,"  of  being  able 
to  get  all  Joe  Walker's  betting  business  away  from  him. 
William's  allusions  to  the  police,  and  the  care  that  must  be 
taken  not  to  bet  with  anyone  who  has  not  been  properly 
introduced,  frightened  her  ;  but  her  fears  died  in  the  sensa- 
tion of  his  arm  about  her  waist,  and  the  music  that  the 
striking  of  a  match  had  put  to  flight  began  in  her  heart,  and 
it  rose  to  its  height  when  his  face  bent  over  hers. 

VII. 

The  Barfield  reckoning  was  that  they  had  a  stone  in  hand. 
Mr.  Leopold  said  that  Bayleaf  at  seven  stone  would  be 
backed  to  win  a  million  of  money,  and  Silver  Braid,  who 
had  been  tried  again  with  Bayleaf,  and  with  the  same 
result  as  before,  had  been  let  off  with  only  six  stone. 

More  rain  had  fallen,  the  hay  crop  was  spoilt,  and  the 
prospects  of  the  wheat  harvest  were  jeopardized,  but  what 
did  a  few  bushels  of  wheat  matter?     Another  pound  of 


50  ESTHER  WATERS 

muscle  was  worth  all  the  corn  that  could  be  grown  between 
here  and  Henfield.  Let  the  rain  come  down,  let  every 
ear  of  wheat  be  destroyed,  so  long  as  those  delicate  fore- 
legs remained  sound.  These  were  the  ethics  at  Woodview, 
and  within  the  last  few  days  they  were  accepted  by  the 
little  town  and  not  a  few  of  the  farmers,  grown  tired  of 
seeing  their  crops  rotting  on  the  hillsides.  The  fever  of 
the  gamble  was  in  eruption,  breaking  out  in  unexpected 
places — the  station-master,  the  porters,  the  flymen,  all 
had  their  bit  on,  and  notwithstanding  the  enormous 
favouritism  of  two  other  horses  in  the  race — Prisoner  and 
Stoke  Newington — Silver  Braid  was  creeping  up  in  the 
betting,  for  reports  of  trials  won  had  reached  Brighton, 
and  with  the  result  that  not  more  than  five-and-twenty  to 
one  could  now  be  obtained. 

An  alarming  piece  of  news  it  was  that  the  Demon  had 
gone  up  several  pounds  in  weight,  and  the  strictest  investi- 
gation was  made  as  to  when  and  how  he  had  obtained  the 
food  required  to  produce  such  a  mass  of  adipose  tissue. 
The  Gaffer  had  the  boy  upstairs  and  handed  him  a 
huge  dose  of  salts,  keeping  his  eye  upon  him  till  he  had 
swallowed  every  drop ;  and  when  the  effects  of  the 
medicine  had  worn  off,  he  was  sent  for  a  walk  to  Portslade 
in  two  large  overcoats,  accompanied  by  William  to  make 
the  running.  On  his  return  a  couple  of  feather  beds  were 
ready,  Mr.  Leopold  and  Mr.  Swindles  laid  him  between 
them,  and  when  he  began  to  cease  sweating  Mr.  Leopold 
made  him  a  cup  of  hot  tea. 

''  That's  the  way  the  Gaffer  used  to  get  the  flesh  off  in 
the  old  days  when  he  rode  the  winner  at  Liverpool." 

"  It's  the  Demon's  own  fault,"  said  Mr.  Swindles  ;  "  if  he 
hadn't  been  so  greedy  he  wouldn't  have  had  to  sweat,  and  we 
should  'ave  been  spared  a  deal  of  bother  and  anxiety." 

"  Greedy !"  murmured  the  little  boy,  in  whom  the 
warm  tea  had  induced  a  new  sweat ;  ''  I  haven't  had  what 


ESTHER  WATERS  51 

you  might  call  a  dinner  for  the  last  three  months.     I  think 
I'll  chuck  the  whole  thing." 

"  Not  until  this  race  is  over/'  said  Mr.  Swindles. 
"  Supposing  I  was  to  pass  the  warming-pan  down  these 
'ere  sheets.  What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Leopold  ?  They  are 
beginning  to  feel  a  bit  cold." 

"  Cold  !  I  'ope  you'll  never  go  to  a  'otter  place.  P'or 
God's  sake,  Mr.  Leopold,  don't  let  him  come  near  me  with 
the  warming-pan^  or  else  he'll  melt  the  little  flesh  that's 
left  off  me." 

"You   'ad   better   not   make    such    a   fuss,"    said    Mr. 

Leopold ;  "  if  you  don't  do  what  you  are  told,  you'll  have 

to  take  salts  again  and  go  for  another  walk  with  William." 

"If  we  don't  warm  up  them  sheets  'e'U  dry  up/'  said 

Mr.  Swindles. 

"  No,  I  won't ;  I'm  teeming." 

''  Be   a  good  boy,  and  you   shall  have  a  nice    cut   of 
mutton  when  you  get  up/'  said  Mr.  Leopold. 
"  How  much  ?     Two  slices  ?" 

"  Well,  you  see,  we  can't  promise  ;  it  all  depends  on 
how  much  has  come  off,  and  'aving  once  got  it  hoff,  we 
don't  want  to  put  it  on  again." 

"  I  never  did  'ear  such  rot,"  said  Swindles.  "  In  my 
time  a  boy's  feelings  weren't  considered — one  did  what  one 
considered  good  for  them/'  and  while  Mr.  Swindles  raised 
the  bedclothes,  Mr.  Leopold  strove  to  engage  the  Demon's 
thoughts  with  compliments  regarding  his  horsemanship  in 
the  City  and  Sub. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Swindles,  you  are  burning  me." 
"  For  'eaven's  sake  don't  let  him  start  out  from  under 
the  bedclothes  like  that !     Can't  yer  'old  him  ?     Burning 
you  !     I  never  even  touched  you  with  it ;  it  was  the  sheet 
that  you  felt." 

"  Then  the  sheet  is  as  'ot  as  the  bloody  fire.  Will  yer 
leave  off.''" 


52  ESTHER  WATERS 

"  What !  a  Demon  like  you  afraid  of  a  little  touch  of 
'eat ;  wouldn't  'ave  believed  it  unless  I  'ad  'eard  it  with 
my  own  ears/'  said  Mr.  Leopold.  '^Come,  now,  do  yer 
want  to  ride  the  crack  at  Goodwood  or  do  yer  not?  If 
you  do,  remain  quiet,  and  let  us  finish  taking  off  the  last 
couple  of  pounds." 

"It  is  the  last  couple  of  pounds  that  takes  it  out  of 
one ;  the  first  lot  comes  off  jest  like  butter/'  said  the 
boy,  rolling  out  of  the  way  of  the  pan.  "  I  know  what 
it  will  be ;  I  shall  be  so  weak  that  I  shall  just  ride  a 
stinking  bad  race." 

Mr.  Leopold  and  Mr.  Swindles  exchanged  glances.  It 
was  clear  that  they  thought  there  was  something  in  the 
last  words  of  the  fainting  Demon,  and  the  pan  was  with- 
drawn. But  when  the  boy  was  put  into  the  scale  again  it 
was  found  that  he  was  not  yet  nearly  the  right  weight, 
and  the  Gaffer  ordered  another  effort  to  be  made.  The 
Demon  pleaded  sore  feet,  but  he  was  sent  off  all  the  same 
to  Portslade  in  charge  of  William. 

As  the  last  pounds  came  off  the  Demon's  little  carcass 
Mr.  Leopold's  face  resumed  a  more  tranquil  expression, 
and  it  began  to  be  whispered  that  instead  of  hedging  any 
part  of  his  money  he  would  stand  it  all  out,  and  one  day  a 
market  gardener  brought  up  word  that  he  had  seen  Mr. 
Leopold  going  into  Brighton. 

"  Old  Watkins  isn't  good  enough  for  him,  that's  about 
it.  If  Silver  Braid  wins,  Woodview  will  see  very  little 
more  of  Mr.  Leopold.  He'll  be  for  buying  one  of  them 
big  houses  on  the  sea  road  and  keeping  his  own  trap." 

VIII. 

The  great  day  was  now  fast  approaching.  The  Gaffer 
had  promised  to  drive  his  folk  in  a  drag  to  Goodwood. 
No   more   rain   was   required,   the    colt's    legs    remained 


ESTHER  WATERS  53 

soundj  and  three  days  of  sunshine  would  make  all  the 
difference  in  their  sum  of  happiness.  In  the  kitchen 
Mrs.  Latch  and  Esther  had  been  busy  for  some  time  with 
chickens  and  pies  and  jellies,  and  in  the  passage  there 
were  cases  packed  with  fruit  and  wine.  The  dressmaker 
had  come  from  Worthing,  and  for  several  days  the  young 
ladies  had  not  left  her;  and  one  fine  morning,  very  early 
— about  eight  o'clock — the  wheelers  were  backed  into  the 
drag  that  had  come  from  Brighton.  The  yard  resounded 
with  the  blaring  of  the  horn.  It  was  Ginger  practising 
under  his  sister's  window. 

"  You'll  be  late  !     You'll  be  late  !" 

With  the  exception  of  two  young  gentlemen,  who  came 
at  the  invitation  of  the  young  ladies,  it  was  quite  a  family 
party.  Miss  Mary  sat  beside  her  father  on  the  box,  and 
looked  very  charming  in  white  and  blue.  Peggy's  black 
hair  seemed  blacker  than  ever  under  a  white  silk  parasol, 
which  she  waved  negligently  above  her  as  she  stood  up 
calling  and  talking  to  everyone  until  the  Gaffer  told  her 
angrily  to  sit  down,  as  he  was  going  to  start.  Then 
W^illiam  and  the  coachman  let  go  the  leaders'  heads,  and 
running  alongside  swung  themselves  into  their  seats. 
At  the  same  moment  a  glimpse  was  caught  of  Mr. 
Leopold's  sallow  profile  amid  the  boxes  and  the  mackin- 
toshes that  filled  the  inside  of  the  coach. 

''  Oh,  William  did  look  that  handsome  in  those  beautiful 
new  clothes  !  Everyone  said  so — Sarah  and  Margaret 
and  Miss  Grover.  I'm  sorry  you  didn't  come  out  to  see 
him." 

Mrs.  Latch  made  no  answer,  and  Esther  remembered 
how  she  hated  her  son  to  wear  livery,  and  thought  that 
she  had  perhaps  made  a  mistake  in  saying  that  Mrs.  Latch 
should  have  come  out  to  see  him.  ^^  Perhaps  this  will 
make  her  dislike  me  again,"  thought  the  girl.  Mrs.  Latch 
moved  about  rapidly;,  and  she  opened  and  closed  the  oven  ; 


54  ESTHER  WATERS 

then^  raising  her  eyes  to  the  window  and  seeing  that  the 
other  women  were  still  standing  in  the  yard  and  safely 
out  of  hearing,  she  said — 

''  Do  you  think  that  he  has  bet  much  on  this  race  ?" 

"  Oh,  how  should  I  know^  Mrs.  Latch  ?  But  the  horse 
is  certain  to  win." 

"  Certain  to  win  !      I  have  heard  that  tale  before  ;  they 
are   always    certain  to  win.      So  they  have   gained    you 
round  to  their  way  of  thinking,  have  they  ?"   said  Mrs. 
/     Latch^  straightening  her  back. 

\  "1  know  very  well  indeed  that  it  is  not  right  to  bet ; 
but  what  can  a  girl  do  .^  If  it  hadn't  been  for  William  I 
never  would  have  taken  a  number  in  that  sweepstakes." 

''  Do  you  like  him  very  much,  then  ?" 

''^  He  has  been  very  kind  to  me — he  was  kind  when " 

"  Yes,  I  know,  when  I  wasn't.  You  don't  know  all.  I 
was  much  troubled  at  that   time,    and    somehow    I    did 

not But  there  is  no  ill-feeling  ?  .   .  .     I'll  make  it 

up  to  you — I'll  teach  you  how  to  be  a  cook." 

^^Oh,  Mrs.  Latch,  I  am  sure " 

"  Never  mind  that.  When  you  went  out  to  walk  with 
him  the  other  night,  did  he  tell  you  that  he  had  many 
bets  on  the  race  T' 

"  He  talked  about  the  race,  like  everyone  else,  but  he 
didn't  tell  me  what  bets  he  had  on." 

"  No,  they  never  do  do  that.  But  you'll  not  tell  him 
that  I  asked  you.''" 

"No,  Mrs.  Latch,  I  promise." 

'^  It  would  do  no  good,  he'd  only  be  angry ;  it  would 
only  set  him  against  me.  I  am  afraid  that  nothing  will 
stop  him  now.  Once  they  gets  a  taste  for  it,  it  is  like 
drink.  I  wish  he  was  married,  that  might  get  him  out  of 
it.  Some  woman  who  would  have  an  influence  over  him, 
some  strong-minded  woman.  I  thought  once  that  you 
were  strong-minded " 


ESTHER  WATERS  55 

At  that  moment  Sarah  and  Grover  entered  the  kitchen 
talking  loudly.  They  asked  Mrs.  Latch  how  soon  they 
could  have  dinner — the  sooner  the  better,  for  the  Saint 
had  told  them  that  they  were  free  to  go  out  for  the  day. 
They  were  to  try  to  be  back  before  eight,  that  was  all. 
Ah!  the  Saint  was  a  first-rate  sort.  She  would  get 
herself  a  bit  of  lunch  in  the  dining-room.  She  did  not 
want  anyone  to  attend  on  her.  Mrs.  Latch  allowed 
Esther  to  hurry  on  the  dinner,  and  by  one  o'clock  they 
had  all  finished.  Sarah  and  Margaret  were  going  into 
Brighton  to  do  some  shopping,  Grover  was  going  to 
Worthing  to  spend  the  afternoon  with  the  wife  of  one  of 
the  guards  of  the  Brighton  and  South  Coast  Railway. 
Mrs.  Latch  went  upstairs  to  lie  down.  So  it  grew  lonelier 
and  lonelier  in  the  kitchen.  Esther's  sewing  fell  out 
of  her  hands,  and  she  wondered  what  she  should  do.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  she  might  sit  by  the  sea,  and  soon 
after  she  was  putting  on  her  hat  and  stood  thinking  that 
she  had  not  seen  the  sea  since  she  watched  tall  ships 
coming  into  the  harbour  at  Barnstaple,  sail  falling  over 
sail,  and  tall  ships  floating  out  of  the  harbour,  sail  rising 
over  sail,  catching  the  breeze  as  they  went  aloft. 

But  few   if  any  ships   came   into   Shoreham   Harbour. 
'^None  in  my  time,  anyway,"  she  said,  as  she  crossed  a 
suspension  bridge,  ornamented  with  straight-tailed  lions. 
It  took  her  over  the  weedy  river,  and  having  crossed  some 
pieces  of  rough  grass,  she  climbed  the  shingle  bank,  and 
sat  looking  at  a   blank,  sailless  sea,  lonely  as  a  prison  it 
seemed  to  her.     But  her  thoughts  reverting  to  William (j^^ 
suddenly,  she  fell  to  thinking  of  the  happy  evening  when     /, 
she  saw  him  coming  through  the  hunting  gate,  and  they    -> 
walked  together  over  the  downs  ;   and  she  remembered 
the  moment  when,  with  his  arm  about  her,  he  explained 
that  if  the  horse  won  she'd  take  seven  shillings  out  of  the 
sweepstakes,  for  she  knew  then  that  William  did  not  care 


56  ESTHER  WATERS 

about  Sarah,  and  happy  in  this  belief,  she  lay  on  the  shingle, 
her  day-dream  becoming  softer  and  more  delicate  as  it 
rounded  into  summer  sleep.  .  .  .  Her  eyes  opened, 
and  she  returned  to  consciousness  with  difficulty,  unable 
to  connect  herself  with  the  sea  and  the  shingle  beach  on 
which  she  was  lying.  At  last  she  remembered.  Ah,  yes, 
the  others  had  gone  to  Goodwood,  that's  how  it  was.  And 
unable  to  think  further  she  lay  dreamily  watching  flights 
of  clouds  till  a  footfall  roused  her. 

"  Good  evening,  Mrs.  Randal,"  said  Esther,  glad  to  find 
someone  to  speak  to.     "  I've  been  asleep." 

"  Good  evening.  Miss.    You're  from  Woodview,  I  think  .^" 

"Yes,  I'm  the  kitchen-maid.  They've  gone  to  the 
races;  there  was  nothing  to  do,  so  I  came  down  here." 

Mrs.  Randal's  lips  moved  as  if  she  were  going  to  say 
something. 

"  I  think  that  it  must  be  getting  near  tea-time,"  she  said 
at  last ;  "  I  must  be  going.  You  might  come  in  and  have 
a  cup  of  tea  with  me,  if  you're  not  in  a  hurry  back  to 
Woodview." 

Esther  said  she'd  be  glad  of  a  cuj)  of  tea,  and  in  silence 
the  two  women  crossed  the  meadows  that  lay  between  the 
shingle  bank  and  the  river,  seeing  trains  passing  all  the 
while  over  the  spider-legged  bridge. 

^'  It  is  all  over  now,"  Mrs.  Randal  said,  as  she  unlocked 
the  cottage  door.  '^  The  people  in  those  trains  know  well 
enough  which  has  won." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  they  know,  and  somehow  I  feel  as  if  I 
knew  too.     I  feel  as  if  Silver  Braid  had  won." 

"  I've  heard  others  say  that  before.  Won't  you  come  in  ?'' 
And  Esther  entered  the  leanest  house  she  had  ever  been  in. 

Everything  looked  as  if  it  had  been  scraped,  and  the 
spare  furniture  expressed  a  meagre,  lonely  life.  Mrs. 
Randal  dropped  a  plate  as  she  laid  the  table,  and  stood 
pathetically  looking  at  the  pieces,  and  when  Esther  asked 
for  a  teaspoon  she  gave  way  utterly. 


ESTHER  WATERS  57 

^'  I  haven't  one  to  give  you ;  I  had  forgotten  that  they  were 
gone.  I  should  have  remembered  and  not  asked  you  to  tea." 

"  It  don't  matter,  Mrs.  Randal ;  I  can  stir  up  my  tea 
with  anything — a  knitting-needle  will  do  very  well." 

"I  should  have  remembered  and  not  asked  you  back 
to  tea  ;  but  I  was  so  miserable,  and  it  is  so  lonely  sitting 
in  this  house,  that  I  could  stand  it  no  longer.  And  talking 
to  you  saved  me  from  thinking,  and  I  didn't  want  to 
think  until  this  race  was  over.  If  Silver  Braid  is  beaten 
we  are  ruined.  Indeed,  I  don't  know  what  will  become 
of  us.  For  fifteen  years  I  have  borne  up ;  I  have  lived 
on  little  at  the  best  of  times,  and  very  often  have  gone 
without ;  but  that  is  nothing  compared  to  the  anxiety — 
to  see  him  come  in  with  a  white  face,  to  see  him  drop  into 
a  chair  and  hear  him  say,  '  Beaten  a  head  on  the  post,'  or, 
'  Broke  down,  else  he  would  have  won  in  a  canter.'  I  have 
always  tried  to  be  a  good  wife  and  tried  to  console  him, 
and  to  do  the  best  when  he  said,  '  I  have  lost  half  a  year's 
wages,  I  don't  know  how  we  shall  pull  through.'  I  have 
borne  with  ten  thousand  times  more  than  I  can  tell  you. 
The  sufferings,  of  a  gambler's  wife  canuot-be  told.  Tell 
me,'~Avhat  do~y^u  fliThli~myleelings  must  have  been  when 
one  night  I  heard  him  calling  me  out  of  my  sleep,  when 
I  heard  him  say,  '  I  can't  die,  Annie,  without  bidding  you 
good-bye.  I  can  only  hope  that  you  will  be  able  to  pull 
through,  and  I  know  that  the  Gaffer  will  do  all  he  can  for 
you,  but  he  has  been  hit  awful  hard  too.  You  mustn't 
think  too  badly  of  me,  Annie,  but  I  have  had  such  a  bad 
time  that  I  couldn't  put  up  with  it  any  longer,  and  I 
thought  the  best  thing  I  could  do  would  be  to  go.'  That's 
just  how  he  talked — nice  words  to  hear  your  husband 
speak  in  your  ear  through  the  darkness !  There  was  no 
time  to  send  for  the  doctor,  so  I  jumped  out  of  bed,  put  the 
kettle  on,  made  him  drink  glass  after  glass  of  salt  and 
water  and  at  last  he  brought  up  the  laudanum." 


'h. 


58  ESTHER  WATERS 

Esther  listened  to  the  tall  melancholy  woman^  and  re- 
membered the  little  man  whom  she  saw  every  day  so 
orderly^  so  precise,  so  sedate^  so  methodical,  into  whose 
life  she  thought  no  faintest  emotion  had  ever  entered — 
and  this  was  the  truth. 

^^So  long  as  I  only  had  myself  to  think  of  I  didn't 
mind ;  but  now  there  are  the  children  growing  up.  He 
should  think  of  them.  Heaven  only  knows  what  will  be- 
come of  them.  John  is  as  kind  a  husband  as  ever  was  if  it 
weren't  for  that  one  fault ;  but  he  can't  resist  having  some- 
thing on  anymore  than  a  drunkard  can  resist  the  bar-room." 

"Winner,  winner,  winner  of  the  Stewards'  Cup  !" 

The  women  started  to  their  feet,  but  when  they  got  into 
the  street  the  boy  was  far  away  ;  besides,  neither  had  a 
penny  to  pay  for  the  paper,  and  they  wandered  about 
the  town  hearing  and  seeing  nothing,  so  nervous  were 
they.  At  last  Esther  proposed  to  ask  at  the  "  Red  Lion  " 
who  had  won.  Mrs.  Randal  begged  her  to  refrain,  urging 
that  she  was  unable  to  bear  the  tidings  should  it  be  evil. 

"  Silver  Braid,"  the  barman  answered.  The  girl  rushed 
through  the  doors.  "  It  is  all  right,  it  is  all  right ;  he 
has  won !" 

Soon  after  the  little  children  in  the  lane  were  caUing 
forth  "Silver  Braid  won  !"  And  overcome  by  the  excite- 
ment Esther  walked  along  the  sea-road  to  meet  the  drag. 
She  walked  on  and  on  until  the  sound  of  the  horn  came 
through  the  crimson  evening  and  she  saw  the  leaders 
trotting  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  Ginger  was  driving,  and  he 
shouted  to  her,  "He  won  !"  The  Gaffer  waved  the  horn 
and  shouted,  "  He  won !"  Peggy  waved  her  broken 
parasol  and  shouted,  "  He  won !"  Esther  looked  at 
William.  He  leaned  over  the  back  seat  and  shouted, 
"  He  won  !"  She  had  forgotten  all  about  late  dinner. 
What  would  Mrs.  Latch  say  }  On  such  a  day  as  this  she 
would  say  nothing, 


ESTHER  WATERS  59 


IX 


Nearly  everything  came  down  untouched.  The  Barfields 
had  been  eating  and  drinking  ahnost  all  day  on  the  course, 
and  Esther  had  finished  washing  up  before  nine.  But  if 
little  was  eaten  upstairs,  plenty  was  eaten  downstairs  ;  the 
mutton  was  finished  in  a  trice,  and  Mrs.  Latch  had  to  fetch 
from  the  larder  what  remained  of  a  beefsteak  pudding. 
Even  then  they  were  not  satisfied,  and  fine  inroads  were 
made  into  a  new  piece  of  cheese.  Beer,  according  to 
orders,  was  served  without  limit,  and  four  bottles  of  port 
were  sent  down  so  that  the  health  of  the  horse  might  be 
adequately  drunk. 

While  assuaging  their  hunger  the  men  had  exchanged 
many  remarks  regarding  the  Demon's  bad  ending,  how 
nearly  he  had  thrown  the  race  away ;  and  the  meal 
being  now  over,  and  there  being  nothing  to  do  but  to  sit 
and  talk,  Mr.  Leopold,  encouraged  by  William,  entered 
on  an  elaborate  and  technical  account  of  the  race.  The 
women  listened,  playing  with  a  rind  of  cheese,  glancing 
at  the  cheese  itself,  wondering  if  they  could  manage 
another  slice,  and  the  men  sipping  their  port  wine,  puffing 
at  their  pi})es,  William  listening  most  greedily,  enjo^ang 
each  sporting  term,  and  reminding  Mr.  Leopold  of  some 
detail  ingeniously  whenever  he  seemed  disposed  to  shorten 
his  narrative.  The  criticism  of  the  Demon's  horsemanship 
took  a  long  while,  for  by  a  variety  of  suggestive  remarks 
William  led  Mr.  Leopold  into  reminiscences  of  the  skill 
of  certain  famous  jockeys  in  the  first  half  of  the  century. 
These  digressions  wearied  Sarah  and  Grover,  and  their 
thoughts  wandered  to  the  dresses  that  had  been  worn 
that  day,  and  the  lady's-maid  remembered  she  would  hear 
all    that   interested    her   that  night  in  the  young  ladies' 


60  ESTHER  WATERS 

rooms.  At  last,  losing  all  patience,  Sarah  declared  that 
she  didn't  care  what  Chifney  had  said  when  he  just 
managed  to  squeeze  his  horse's  head  in  front  in  the  last 
dozen  yards,  she  wanted  to  know  what  the  Demon  had 
done  to  nearly  lose  the  race  —  had  he  mistaken  the 
winning-post  and  pulled  up?  William  looked  at  her 
contemptuously,  and  would  have  answered  rudely,  but  at 
that  moment  Mr.  Leopold  began  to  tell  the  last  instructions 
that  the  Gaffer  had  given  the  Demon.  The  orders  were 
that  the  Demon  should  go  right  up  to  the  leaders  before 
they  reached  the  half-mile  and  remain  there.  Of  course,  if 
he  found  that  he  was  a  stone  or  more  in  hand,  as  the  Gaffer 
expected,  he  might  come  away  pretty  well  as  he  liked,  for 
the  greatest  danger  was  that  the  horse  might  get  shut  out 
or  might  show  temper  and  turn  it  up. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Leopold,  "  there  were  two  false  starts, 
and  Silver  Braid  must  have  galloped  a  couple  of  'undred 
yards  afore  the  Demon  could  stop  him.  There  wasn't 
twopence -halfpenny  worth  of  strength  in  him — pulling  off 
those  three  or  four  pounds  pretty  well  finished  him.  He'll 
never  be  able  to  ride  that  weight  again.  He  said  afore 
starting  that  he  felt  weak;  you  took  him  along  too 
smartly  from  Portslade  the  last  time  you  went  there." 

"When  he  went  by  himself  he'd  stop  playing  marbles 
with  the  boys  round  the  Southwick  public-house." 

"  If  there  had  been  another  false  start  I  think  it  would 
have  been  all  up  with  us.  The  Gaffer  was  pale,  and  he 
stood  there  not  taking  his  glasses  from  his  eyes.  There 
were  over  thirty  of  them,  so  you  can  imagine  how  hard  it 
was  to  get  them  into  line.  However,  at  the  third  attempt 
they  were  got  straight  and  away  they  came,  a  black  line 
stretching  right  across  the  course.  Presently  the  black 
cap  and  jacket  came  to  the  front,  and  not  very  long  after 
a  murmur  went  round,  'Silver  Braid  wins.'  Never  saw 
anything  like   it  in  all  my  life.     He  was  three  lengths 


ESTHER  WATERS  6l 

a'ead,  and  the  others  were  pulling  off.  '  Damn  the  boy  ; 
he'll  win  by  twenty  lengths/  said  the  Gaffer,  without 
removing  his  glasses.  But  when  within  a  few  yards  of  the 
stand " 

At  that  moment  the  bell  rang.  Mr.  Leopold  said, 
''  There,  they  are  wanting  their  tea  ;  I  must  go  and 
get  it." 

"Drat  their  tea/'  said  Margaret;  "they  can  wait. 
Finish  up ;  tell  us  how  he  won." 

Mr.  Leopold  looked  round,  and  seeing  every  eye  fixed 
on  him  he  considered  how  much  remained  of  the  story, 
and  with  quickened  speech  continued,  ''Well,  approaching 
the  stand,  I  noticed  that  Silver  Braid  was  not  going  quite 
so  fast,  and  at  the  very  instant  the  Demon  looked  over  his 
shoulder,  and  seeing  he  was  losing  ground  he  took  up  the 
whip.  But  the  moment  he  struck  him  the  horse  swerved 
right  across  the  course,  right  under  the  stand,  running  like 
a  rat  from  underneath  the  whip.  The  Demon  threw  the 
whip  across  and  caught  him  one  across  the  nose,  but  seeing 
what  was  'appening,  the  Tinman,  who  was  on  Bullfinch, 
sat  down  and  began  riding.  I  felt  as  if  there  was  a  lump 
of  ice  down  my  back/'  and  Mr.  Leopold  lowered  his  voice, 
and  his  face  became  grave  as  he  recalled  that  perilous 
moment.  "  I  thought  it  was  all  over/'  he  said,  "and  the 
Gaffer  thought  the  same ;  I  never  saw  a  man  go  so  deadly 
pale.  It  was  all  the  work  of  a  moment,  but  that  moment 
was  more  than  a  year — at  least,  so  it  seemed  to  me.  Well, 
about  half-way  up  the  rails  the  Tinman  got  level  with  the 
Demon.  It  was  ten  to  one  that  Silver  Braid  would  turn 
it  up,  or  that  the  boy  wouldn't  'ave  the  strength  to  ride 
out  so  close  a  finish  as  it  was  bound  to  be.  I  thought  then 
of  the  way  you  used  to  take  him  along  from  Portslade,  and 
I'd  have  given  something  to've  put  a  pound  or  two  of  flesh 
into  his  thighs  and  arms.  The  Tinman  was  riding  splendid, 
getting  every  ounce  and  something  more  out  of  Bullfinch. 


62  ESTHER  WATERS 

The  Demoiij  too  weak  to  do  much^  was  sitting  nearly  quite 
still.  It  looked  as  if  it  was  all  up  with  us,  but  somehow 
Silver  Braid  took  to  galloping  of  his  own  accord^  and 
'aving  such  a  mighty  lot  in  'and^  he  won  on  the  post  by  a 
'ead — a  short  'ead. 

"  I  never  felt  that  queer  in  my  life,  and  the  Gaffer  was 
no  better ;  but  I  said  to  him,  just  afore  the  numbers  went 
up,  '  It  is  all  right,  sir,  he's  just  done  it,'  and  when  the 
right  number  went  up  I  thought  everything  was  on  the 
dance,  going  for  swim  like.  By  golly,  it  was  a  near  thing  !" 
At  the  end  of  a  long  silence  Mr.  Leopold  said,  shaking 
himself  out  of  his  thoughts, "  Now  I  must  go  and  get  their 
tea." 

Esther  sat  at  the  end  of  the  table  ;  her  cheek  leaned  on 
her  hand.  By  turning  her  eyes  she  could  see  William  ; 
and  when  Sarah  caught  sight  of  these  stealthy  glances,  a 
look  of  anger  crossed  her  face  ;  she  called  to  William  ; 
she  asked  him  when  the  sweepstakes  money  would  be 
divided,  startling  him  from  a  reverie  of  small  bets.  ''  It 
can  be  divided  at  once,"  he  answered.  "There's  no 
reason  why  it  shouldn't.  There's  twelve  of  you.  That's 
right,  isn't  it  ? — Sarah,  Margaret,  Esther,  Miss  Grover, 
Mr.  Leopold,  myself,  the  four  boys,  and  Swindles  and 
W^all.  W^ell,  it  w^as  agreed  that  seven  should  go  to  the 
first,  three  to  the  second,  and  two  to  the  third.  No 
one  got  the  third  'orse,  so  I  suppose  the  two  shillings 
that  would  have  gone  to  him  'ad  better  be  given  to  the 
first." 

"  Given  to  the  first !  Why,  that's  Esther  !  Why 
should  she  get  it }  What  do  you  mean  ?  No  third ! 
W^asn't  Soap-bubble  third  ?" 

"Yes,  Soap-bubble  was  third  right  enough,  but  he 
wasn't  in  the  sweep." 

"And  why  wasn't  he  }" 

"  Because  he  wasn't  among  the  eleven  first  favourites. 


ESTHER  WATERS  6S 

We  took  them  as  they  were  quoted  in  the  betting  list 
published  in  the  Sportsman.'' 

''  How  was  it^  then^  that  you  put  in  Silver  Braid  ?" 

"  Yer  needn't  get  so  angry,  Sarah,  no  one's  cheating ; 
it  is  all  above  board.  If  you  don't  believe  us,  you'd  better 
accuse  us  straight  out." 

^^What  I  want  to  know  is,  why  Silver  Braid  was 
included? — he  wasn't  among  the  eleven  first  favourites." 

''  Oh,  don't  be  so  stupid,  Sarah ;  you  know  that  we 
agreed  to  make  an  exception  in  favour  of  our  own  'orse — 
a  nice  sweep  it  would  'ave  been  if  we  'adn't  included 
Silver  Braid." 

"  And  suppose,"  she  exclaimed,  tightening  her  brows, 
"  that  Soap-bubble  had  won,  what  would  have  become  of 
our  money  ?" 

"  It  would  have  been  returned — everyone  would  have 
got  his  shilling  back." 

^'^And  now  I  am  to  get  three  shillings,  and  that  little 
Methodist  or  Plymouth  Brethren  there,  whatever  you  like 
to  call  her,  is  to  get  nine !"  said  Sarah,  with  a  light  of 
inspiration  flashing  through  her  beer-clouded  mind.  "  W^hy 
should  the  two  shillings  that  would  have  gone  to  Soap- 
bubble,  if  anyone  'ad  drawn  *im,  go  to  the  first  'orse  rather 
than  to  the  second?" 

William  hesitated,  unable  for  the  moment  to  give  a  good 
reason  why  the  extra  two  shillings  should  be  given  to 
Silver  Braid;  and  Sarah,  perceiving  her  advantage, 
accused  him  of  wishing  to  favour  Esther. 

"  Don't  we  know  that  you  went  out  to  walk  with  her, 
and  that  you  remained  out  till  nearly  eleven  at  night. 
That's  why  you  want  all  the  money  to  go  to  her.  You 
don't  take  us  for  a  lot  of  fools,  do  you  ?  Never  in  any 
place  I  ever  was  in  before  would  such  a  thing  be  allowed 
— the  footman  going  out  with  the  kitchen-maid,  and  one 
of  the  Dissenting  lot." 


64  ESTHER  WATERS 

/  /      ^^  I  am  not  going  to  have  my  religion  insulted  !       How 
'y  dare  you  ?"      And  Esther  started  up  from  her  place  ;  but 
'    William  was  too  quick  for  her.     He  grasped  her  arm. 
'^  Never  mind  what  Sarah  says." 

"  Never  mind  what  I  says  !  .  .  .  A  thing  like  that,  who 
never  was  in  a  situation  before ;  no  doubt  taken  out  of 

some  'ouse.     Rescue  work,  I  think  they  call  it " 

"  She  shan't  insult  me — no,  she  shan't !"  said  Esther, 
tremulous  with  passion. 

''A  nice  sort  of  person  to  insult !"  said  Sarah,  her  arms 
akimbo. 

'^  Now  look  you  here,  Sarah  Tucker,"  said  Mrs.  Latch, 
starting  from  her  seat,  "  I'm  not  going  to  see  that  girl 
aggravated,  so  that  she  may  do  what  she  shouldn't  do,  and 
give  you  an  opportunity  of  going  to  the  missis  with  tales 
about  her.  Come  away,  Esther,  come  with  me.  Let  them 
go  on  betting  if  they  will ;  I  never  saw  no  good  come 
of  it." 

"  That's  all  very  fine,  mother  ;  but  it  must  be  settled, 
and  we  have  to  divide  the  money." 

"I  don't  want  your  money,"  said  Esther,  sullenly;  "\ 
wouldn't  take  it." 

"  What  blooming  nonsense !  You  must  take  your 
money.     Ah,  here's  Mr.  Leopold  !  he'll  decide  it." 

Mr.  Leopold  said  at  once  that  the  money  that  under 
other  circumstances  would  have  gone  to  the  third  horse 
must  be  divided  between  the  first  and  second  ;  but  Sarah 
refused  to  accept  this  decision.  Finally,  it  was  proposed 
that  the  matter  should  be  referred  to  the  editor  of  the 
Sportsman  ;  and  as  Sarah  still  remained  deaf  to  argument, 
William  offered  her  choice  between  the  Sportsmaii  and  the 
Sporting  Life. 

"  Look  here/'  said  William,  getting  between  the  women  ; 
"  this  evening  isn't  one  for  fighting  ;  we  have  all  won  our 
little  bit,  and  ought  to  be  thankful.     The  only  difference 


ESTHER  WATERS  65 

between  you  is  two  shillings,  that  were  to  have  gone  to 
the  third  horse  if  anyone  had  drawn  him.  Mr.  Leopold 
says  it  ought  to  be  divided ;  you,  Sarah,  won't  accept  his 
decision.  We  have  offered  to  write  to  the  Sportsman,  and 
Esther  has  offered  to  give  up  her  claim.  Now,  in  the 
name  of  God,  tell  us  what  do  you  want  ?" 

Sarah  couldn't  keep  to  the  point,  and  the  argument 
tangled,  rattled  on,  and  stood  still.  At  last  the  speakers 
stared  at  each  other,  talked  dry. 

^'  Well,  that's  how  it  is.  Give  me  the  money  I've  won — 
them  three  shillings,  my  winnings,  is  all  I'm  asking  for." 

"  Haven't  I  made  it  plain  ?" 

"  No,  you  haven't." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !  Well,  good  night,  ladies.  I  have  had 
enough  of  you  for  to-night ;  I  am  going  to  finish  my  smoke 
in  the  pantry.  Don't  scratch  all  your  'air  out ;  leave 
enough  for  me  to  put  into  a  locket." 

When  the  pantry  door  was  shut,  and  the  men  had 
smoked  some  moments  in  silence,  William  said — 

"  Do  you  think  he  has  any  chance  of  winning  the 
Chesterfield  Cup  ?" 

"  He'll  win  in  a  canter  if  he'll  only  run  straight.  And 
if  I  was  the  Gaffer  I  think  I'd  put  up  a  bigger  boy.  He'll 
'ave  to  carry  a  seven-pound  penalty,  and  Johnnie  Scott 
could  ride  that  weight." 

The  likelihood  that  a  horse  will  bolt  with  one  jockey 
and  run  straight  with  another  was  illustrated  with  inter- 
esting reminiscences  drawn  from  that  remote  past  when 
Mr.  Leopold  was  the  Gaffer's  private  servant — before 
either  of  them  had  married — when  life  was  composed 
entirely  of  horse-racing  and  prize-fighting.  But  cutting 
short  his  tale  of  how  he  met  one  day  the  Birmingham 
Chicken  in  a  booth,  and,  not  knowing  who  he  was,  offered 
to  fight  him,  Mr.  Leopold  confessed  he  did  not  know  how 
to  act — he  had  a  bet  of  fifty  pounds  to  ten  shillings  for  the 


66  ESTHER  WATERS 

double  event,  and  couldn't  make  up  his  mind  if  he  should 
stand  it  out  or  lay  some  of  it  off.  William  thrilled  with 
admiration.  What  a  'ead,  and  who'd  think  it  ?  that  little 
'ead  hardly  bigger  than  a  cocoanut !  What  a  brain  there 
was  inside  !  Fifty  pounds  to  ten  shillings ;  should  he 
stand  it  out  or  hedge  some  of  it  ?  Who  could  tell  better 
than  Mr.  Leopold  ?  It  would,  of  course,  be  a  pity  to  break 
into  the  fifty.  What  did  ten  shillings  matter  ?  Mr. 
Leopold  was  a  big  enough  man  to  stand  the  racket  of  it 
even  if  it  didn't  come  back.  William  felt  very  proud  of 
being  consulted,  for  Mr.  Leopold  had  never  before  been 
known  to  let  anyone  know  wdiat  he  had  on  a  race. 

And  next  day  they  walked  into  Shoreham  together. 
The  bar  of  the  "  Red  Lion  "  was  full  of  people.  Above 
the  thronging  crowd  the  voice  of  the  barman  and  the 
customers  were  heard  calling,  "  Two  glasses  of  Burton, 
glass  of  bitter,  three  of  whisky  cold."  There  were  railway 
porters,  sailors,  boatmen,  shop-boys,  and  market  gardeners. 
They  had  all  won  something,  and  had  come  for  their 
winnings. 

The  book-maker,  an  elderly  man  wuth  white  whiskers 
and  a  curving  stomach,  had  just  run  in  to  wet  his  whistle. 
He  walked  back  to  his  office  with  Mr.  Leopold  and 
William,  a  little  corner  shelved  out  of  some  out-houses 
into  which  you  could  walk  from  the  street. 

"  Talk  of  favourites  !"  he  said  ;  "  I'd  sooner  pay  over  the 
three  flrst  favourites  than  this  one— thirty,  twenty  to  one 
starting  price,  and  the  whole  town  on  to  him  ;  it's  enough 
to  break  any  man.  Now,  my  men,  what  is  it  ?"  he  said, 
turning  to  the  railway  porters. 

"  Just  the  trifle  me  and  my  mates  'av  won  over  that  'ere 
'orse." 

"What  was  it?" 

"A  shilling  at  five-and-twenty  to  one." 

"  Look  it  out,  Joey.     Is  it  all  right  ?" 


ESTHER  WATERS  (57 

"  Yes,  sir ;  yes,  sir/'  said  the  clerk. 

And  old  Watkins  slid  his  hand  into  his  breeches  pocket, 
and  it  came  forth  filled  with  gold  and  silver. 

"Come,  come,  mates,  we  are  bomid  to  'ave  a  bet  on 
him  for  the  Chesterfield — we  can  afford  it  now ;  what  say 
yer,  a  shilling  each  ?" 

"Done    for  a    shilling    each,"    said    the    under-porter ; 
"  finest  'orse  in  training.     What  price,  Musser  Watkins  T' 
"Ten  to  one." 
"  Right,  'ere's  my  bob." 

The  other  porters  gave  their  shillings;  Watkins  slid 
them  back  into  his  pocket,  and  called  to  Joey  to  book 
the  bet. 

"And,  now,  what  is  yours,  Mr.  Latch?" 
WiUiam  stated  the  various  items.  He  had  had  a  bet 
of  ten  shillings  to  one  on  one  race  and  had  lost ;  he  had 
had  half-a-crown  on  another  and  had  lost ;  in  a  word, 
three-and-sixpence  had  to  be  subtracted  from  his  win- 
nings, which  amounted  to  more  than  five  pounds.  A  great 
sum  for  a  footman,  to  be  sure,  and  the  world  seemed  to 
be  his  when  he  slipped  four  sovereigns  and  a  handful  of 
silver  into  his  waistcoat  pocket.  Should  he  put  a  sovereign 
of  his  winnings  on  Silver  Braid  for  the  Chesterfield  ? 
Half-a-sovereign  was  enough!  The  danger  of  risking  a 
sovereign — a  whole  sovereign — frightened  him. 

"Now,  Mr.  Latch,"  said  old  Watkins,  ^Mf  you  want  to 
back  anything,  make  up  your  mind;  there  are  a  good 
many  besides  yourself  who  have  business  with  me." 

William  hesitated,  and  then  said  he'd  take  ten  half- 
sovereigns  to  one  against  Silver  Braid. 

"Ten  half-sovereigns  to  one.?"  said  old  Watkins. 
William  murmured  "  Yes,"  and  Joey  booked  the  bet. 
Mr.  Leopold's  business  demanded   more  consideration. 
The  fat  betting  man  and  the  scarecrow  little  butler  walked 
aside  and  talked,  both  apparently  indifferent  to  the  im- 


68  ESTHER  WATERS 

patience  of  a  number  of  small  customers ;  sometimes  Joey 
called  in  his  shrill  cracked  voice  if  he  might  lay  ten  half- 
crowns  to  one,  or  five  shillings  to  one,  as  the  case  might 
be.  Watkins  would  then  raise  his  eyes  from  Mr.  Leopold's 
face  and  nod  or  shake  his  head,  or  perhaps  would  sign 
with  his  fingers  what  odds  he  was  prepared  to  lay.  With 
no  one  else  would  Watkins  talk  so  lengthily,  showing  so 
much  deference.  Mr.  Leopold  had  the  knack  of  investing 
all  he  did  with  an  air  ofmyStery,  and  the  deepest  interest 
was  evinced  in  this  conversation.  At  last,  as  if  dismissing 
matters  of  first  importance,  the  two  men  appro?,ched 
William,  and  he  heard  Watkins  pressing  Mr.  Leopold  to 
lay  off  some  of  that  fifty  pounds. 

"I'll  take  twelve  to  one — twenty-four  pounds  to  two. 
Shall  I  book  it?" 

Mr.  Leopold  shook  his  head,  and  William,  much  im- 
pressed, congratulated  himself  on  his  courage  in  taking 
the  ten  half-sovereigns  to  one.  For  if  there  was  a  man 
in  this  world  that  knew  a  thing  or  two,  that  man  was 
Mr.  Leopold.  He  had  been  talking  to  the  Gaffer  that 
morning,  and  if  it  hadn't  been  all  right  he  would  have 
laid  off  some  of  the  money. 

Next  day  one  of  the  Gaffer's  two-year-olds  won  a  race, 
and  the  day  after  Silver  Braid  won  the  Chesterfield  Cup. 

The  second  victory  of  Silver  Braid  nearly  ruined  old 
Watkins.  He  declared  that  he  had  never  been  so  hard 
hit ;  but  as  he  did  not  ask  for  time  and  continued  to  draw- 
notes  and  gold  and  silver  in  handfuls  from  his  capacious 
pockets,  his  lamentations  only  served  to  stimulate  the 
happiness  of  the  fortunate  backers,  and,  listening  to  the 
sweet  note  of  self  ringing  in  their  hearts,  they  returned 
to  the  public-house  to  drink  the  health  of  the  horse. 

So  the  flood  of  gold  continued  to  roll  into  the  little 
town,  decrepit  and  colourless  by  its  high  shingle  beach 
and  long  reaches  of  muddy  river.     The  dear  gold  jingled 


ESTHER  WATERS  69 

merrily  in  the  pockets,  quickening  the  steps,  lightening 
the  heart,  curling  lips  with  smiles,  opening  lips  with 
laughter.  The  dear  gold  came  falling  softly,  sweetly  as 
rain,  soothing  the  hard  lives  of  working  folk.  Lives 
pressed  with  toil  lifted  up  and  began  to  dream  again. 
The  dear  gold  was  like  an  opiate  ;  it  wiped  away  memories 
of  hardship  and  sorrow,  it  "sTTowed  life  in  a  lighter  and 
merrier  guise,  and  the  folk  laughed  at  their  fears  for  the 
morrow  and  wondered  how  they  could  have  thought  life 
so  hard  and  relentless.  The  dear  gold  was  pleasing  as  a 
bird  on  the  branch,  as  a  flower  on  the  stem ;  the  tune  it 
sang  was  sweet,  the  colour  it  flaunted  was  bright. 

The  trade  of  former  days  had  never  brought  the  excite- 
ment and  the  fortune  that  this  horse's  hoofs  had  done. 
The  dust  they  had  thrown  up  had  fallen  a  happy,  golden 
shower  upon  Shoreham.  In  every  corner  and  crevice  of 
hfe  the  glitter  appeared.  That  fine  red  dress  on  the 
builder's  wife,  and  the  feathers  that  the  girls  flaunt  at 
their  sweethearts,  the  loud  trousers  on  the  young  man's 
legs,  the  cigar  in  his  mouth — all  is  Goodwood  gold.  It 
glitters  in  that  girl's  ears  and  on  this  girl's  finger. 

It  was  said  that  the  town  of  Shoreham  had  won  two 
thousand  pounds  on  the  race  ;  it  M-as  said  that  Mr.  Leopold 
had  won  two  hundred  ;  it  was  said  that  William  Latch  had 
won  fifty ;  it  was  said  that  Wall,  the  coachman,  had  won 
five-and-twenty ;  it  was  said  that  the  Gaffer  had  won  forty 
thousand  pounds,  and  for  ten  miles  around  nothing  was 
talked  of  but  the  wealth  of  the  Barfields.  The  county 
came  to  call,  and  some  of  the  best  people  walked  up  and 
down  the  lawn  with  the  Gaffer,  listening  to  his  slightest 
word.  A  golden  prosperity  shone  upon  the  yellow  Italian 
house.  At  every  hour  carriages  passed  under  its  elm- 
trees  and  swept  round  the  evergreen  oaks.  Rumour  said 
that  large  alterations  were  going  to  be  made,  so  that  larger 
and  grander  entertainments  might  be  given  ;   an  Italian 


70  ESTHER  WATERS 

garden  was  spoken  of,  balustrades  and  terraces,  stables 
were  in  course  of  construction ;  many  more  racehorses 
were  bought ;  they  arrived  daily,  and  the  slender  creatures, 
their  dark  eyes  glancing  out  of  the  sight  holes  in  their 
cloth  hoods,  walked  up  from  the  station  followed  by  an 
admiring  and  commenting  crowd.  Drink  and  expensive 
living,  dancing  and  singing  upstairs  and  downstairs,  and 
the  jollifications  culminated  in  a  servants'  ball  given  at 
the  Shoreham  Gardens.  All  the  Woodview  servants, 
excepting  Mrs.  Latch,  were  there  ;  likewise  all  the  servants 
from  Mr.  Northcote's,  and  those  from  Sir  George  Preston's 
— two  leading  county  families.  A  great  number  of  servants 
had  come  from  West  Brighton,  and  Lancing,  and  Worthing 
— altogether  between  two  and  three  hundred.  "  Evening 
dress  is  indispensable  "  was  printed  on  the  cards.  The 
butlers,  footmen,  cooks,  ladies'-maids,  housemaids,  and 
housekeepers  hoped  by  this  notification  to  keep  the  ball 
select.  But  the  restriction  seemed  to  condemn  Esther  to 
play  again  the  part  of  Cinderella. 


A  GROUP  of  men  turned  from  the  circular  buffet  when 
Esther  entered.  Miss  Mary  had  given  her  a  white  muslin 
dress,  a  square-cut  bodice  with  sleeves  reaching  to  the 
elbows,  and  a  blue  sash  tied  round  the  waist.  The  remarks 
as  she  passed  were,  "A  nice,  pretty  girl."  William  was 
waiting,  and  she  went  away  with  him  on  the  hop  of  a 
vigorous  polka. 

Many  of  the  dancers  had  gone  to  get  cool  in  the  gardens, 
but  a  few  couples  had  begun  to  whirl,  the  women  borne 
along  by  force,  the  men  poising  their  legs  into  curious 
geometrical  positions. 

Mr.  Leopold  was  very  busy  dragging  men  away  from 
the  circular  buffet — they  must  dance  whether  they  knew 


ESTHER  WATERS  71 

how  or  not.  '^The  Gaffer  has  told  me  partic'lar  to  see 
that  the  ^ gals'  all  had  partners,  and  just  look  down  that 
'ere  room ;  'alf  of  that  lot  'aven't  been  on  their  legs  yet. 
'Ere's  a  partner  for  you/'  and  the  butler  pulled  a  young 
gamekeeper  towards  a  young  girl  who  had  just  arrived. 
She  entered  slowdy,  her  hands  clasped  across  her  bosom, 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground,  and  the  strangeness  of  the 
spectacle  caused  Mr.  Leopold  to  pause.  It  was  whispered 
that  she  had  never  worn  a  low  dress  before,  and  Grover 
came  to  the  rescue  of  her  modesty  with  a  pocket-hand- 
kerchief. 

But  it  had  been  found  impossible  to  restrict  the  ball  to 
those  who  possessed  or  could  obtain  an  evening  suit,  and 
plenty  of  check  trousers  and  red  neckties  were  hopping 
about.  Among  the  villagers  many  a  touch  suggested 
costume.  A  young  girl  had  borrowed  her  grandmother's 
wedding  dress,  and  a  young  man  wore  a  canary-coloured 
waistcoat  and  a  blue  coast-guardsman's  coat  of  old  time. 
These  touches  of  fancy  and  personal  taste  divided  the 
villagers  from  the  household  servants.  The  butlers  seemed 
on  the  watch  for  side  dishes,  and  the  valets  suggested 
hairbrushes  and  hot  water.  Cooks  trailed  black  silk 
dresses  adorned  with  wide  collars,  and  fastened  with  gold 
brooches  containing  portraits  of  their  late  husbands ;  and 
the  fine  shirt-fronts  set  off  with  rich  pearls,  the  lavender- 
gloved  hands,  the  delicate  faces,  expressive  of  ease  and 
leisure,  made  Ginger's  two  friends — young  Mr.  Preston 
and  young  Mr.  Northcote — noticeable  among  this  menial, 
work-a-day  crowd.  Ginger  loved  the  upper  circles,  and 
now  he  romped  the  polka  in  the  most  approved  London 
fashion,  his  elbows  advanced  like  a  yacht's  bowsprit,  and, 
his  coat-tails  flying,  he  dashed  through  a  group  of  trades- 
people who  were  bobbing  up  and  down,  hardly  advancing 
at  all. 

Esther  was  now  being  spoken  of  as  the  belle  of  the  ball. 


72  ESTHER  WATERS 

she  had  danced  with  young  Mr.  Preston  and  his  friends, 
and  seemed  to  be  enjoying  herself,  but  was  now  sitting 
alone,  so  Grover  called  her  and  asked  her  why  she  was  not 
dancing. 

William  came  for  the  next  polka,  '^  just  to  show  there  is 
no  il]-feeling/'  he  said,  and  repeated  his  request  half  a 
dozen  times.     At  last  she  said  : 

"  YouVe  spoilt  all  my  pleasure  in  the  dancing." 

"I'm  sorry  if  I've  done  that,  Esther.  I  was  jealous, 
that's  all." 

"  Jealous  !  What  was  you  jealous  for  ?  What  do  it 
matter  what  people  think,  so  long  as  I  know  I  haven't 
done  no  WTong  ?" 

But  she  did  not  refuse  to  walk  in  the  garden,  where 
the  night  was  warm,  even  oppressive,  and  the  moon  hung 
among  the  trees  with  strange  markings  on  its  yellow  disc 
that  momentarily  allured  the  thoughts  of  the  revellers. 
"  You  must  see  the  arbours  and  ruins,"  W^illiam  said,  and 
he  showed  her  the  theatre  and  explained  its  purpose. 
She  listened,  without  troubling  to  understand.  Could  she 
believe  that  she  was  not  dreaming  when  they  stood  on  the 
borders  of  a  beautiful  lake  full  of  the  shadows  of  tall  trees, 
and  crossed  by  a  wooden  bridge  at  the  narrowest  end  ? 

"How  still  the  water  is  ;  and  the  stars,  they  are  lovely  !" 

"You  should  see  the  gardens  about  three  o'clock  on 
Saturday  afternoons,  when  the  excursion  comes  in  from 
Brighton,"  he  answered,  and  they  walked  on  a  little  farther, 
and  Esther  said,  "  What's  these  places  }    Ain't  they  dark  ?" 

"  These  are  arbours,  where  we  'as  shrimps  and  tea.  I'll 
take  you  next  Saturday,  if  you'll  come." 

A  noisy  band  of  young  men,  followed  by  three  or  four 
girls,  ran  across  the  bridge,  and  they  stopped  suddenly  to 
argue  on  which  side  the  boat  was  to  be  found.  Some 
chose  the  left,  some  the  right ;  those  who  went  to  the 
right    sent   up   a    yell    of    triumph,    and    from   the    boat 


ESTHER  WATERS  73 

addressed  remarks  to  their  companions^  and  then  they 
admired  the  moon  and  stars.  A  song  was  demanded,  and 
at  the  end  of  the  second  verse  William  threw  his  arm 
round  Esther. 

'^  Oh,  Esther,  I  do  love  you." 

She  looked  at  him,  her  grey  eyes  fixed  in  a  long  inter- 
rogation. 

"  I  wonder  if  that  is  true.     What  is  there  to  love  in  me  ?" 

He  squeezed  her  tightly,  and  continued  his  protes- 
tations.    ''\  do,  I  do,  I  do  love  you,  Esther." 

She  did  not  answer,  and  they  walked  slowly  on.  A 
holly  bush  threw  a  black  shadow  on  the  gravel  path,  and  a 
moment  after  the  ornamental  tin  roof  of  the  dancing  room 
appeared  between  the  trees. 

Even  in  their  short  absence  a  change  had  come  upon 
the  ball.  About  the  circular  buffet  numbers  of  men  called 
for  drink,  and  talked  loudly  of  horse-racing.  Many  were 
away  at  supper,  and  those  that  remained  were  amusing 
themselves  in  a  desultory  fashion.  A  tall,  lean  woman, 
dressed  like  Sarah  in  white  muslin,  wearing  amber  beads 
round  her  neck,  was  dancing  the  lancers  with  the  Demon, 
and  everyone  shook  with  laughter  when  she  whirled  the 
little  fellow  round  or  took  him  in  her  arms  and  carried 
him  across.  William  wanted  to  dance,  but  Esther  was 
hungry,  and  led  him  away  to  an  adjoining  building  where 
cold  beef,  chicken,  and  beer  might  be  had  by  the  strong 
and  adventurous.  As  they  struggled  through  the  crowd 
Esther  spied  three  young  gentlemen  at  the  other  end  of 
the  room. 

"  Now  tell  me,  if  they  ask  me,  the  young  gents  yonder, 
to  dance,  am  I  to  look  them  straight  in  the  face  and 
say  no  ?" 

William  considered  a  moment,  and  then  he  said,  ^'  I 
think  you  had  better  dance  with  them  if  they  asks  you  ; 
if  you  refuse,  Sarah  will  say  it  was  I  who  put  you  up  to  it." 


74  ESTHER  WATERS 

"Let's  have  another  bottle/'  cried  Gmger.  '^Come, 
what  do  you  say,  Mr.  Thomas  ?" 

Mr.  Thomas  coughed,  smiled,  and  said  that  Mr.  Arthur 
wished  to  see  him  in  the  hands  of  the  police.  However, 
he  promised  to  drink  his  share.  Two  more  bottles  were 
sent  for,  and,  stimulated  by  the  wine,  the  weights  that 
would  probably  be  assigned  to  certain  horses  in  the  autumn 
handicap  were  discussed.  William  was  very  proud  of  being 
admitted  into  such  company,  and  he  listened,  a  cigar 
which  he  did  not  like  between  his  teeth,  and  a  glass  of 
champagne  in  his  hand.  Suddenly  the  conversation  w^as 
interrupted  by  the  cornet  sounding  the  first  phrase  of 
a  favourite  waltz,  and  the  tipsy  and  the  sober  hastened 
away. 

Neither  Esther  nor  William  knew  how  to  waltz,  but 
they  tumbled  round  the  room,  enjoying  themselves 
immensely.  In  the  polka  and  mazurka  they  got  on  better  ; 
and  there  were  quadrilles  and  lancers  in  which  the  gentle- 
men joined,  and  all  were  gay  and  pleasant ;  even  Sarah's 
usually  sour  face  glowed  with  cordiality  when  they  joined 
hands  and  raced  round  the  men  standing  in  t]ie  middle. 
In  the  chain  they  lost  themselves  as  in  a  labyrinth  and 
found  their  partners  unexpectedly.  But  the  dance  of  the 
evening  was  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley,  and  Esther's  usually 
sober  little  brain  evaporated  in  the  folly  of  frolicking  up  the 
room,  then  turning  and  frolicking  backwards,  getting  into 
her  place  as  best  she  could,  and  then  starting  again.  It 
always  appeared  to  be  her  turn,  and  it  was  so  sweet  to  see 
her  dear  William,  and  such  a  strange  excitement  to  run 
forward  to  meet  young  Mr.  Preston,  to  curtsey  to  him, 
and  then  run  away ;  and  this  over  and  over  again. 

"  There's  the  dawn." 

Esther  looked,  and  in  the  whitening  doorways  she  saw 
the  little  jockey  staggering  about  helplessly  drunk.  The 
smile  died  out  of  her  eyes ;  she  returned  to  her  true  self. 


ESTHER  WATERS  75 

to  Mrs.  Bar  field  and  the  Brethren.     She  felt  that  all  this  ^ 
dancing,  drinking,  and  kissing  in  the  arbours  was  wickedr— -'^ 
But  Miss  Mary  had  sent  for  her,  and  had  told  her  that  she 
would  give  her  one  of  her  dresses,  and  she  had  not  known 
how  to  refuse  Miss  Mary.     Then,  if  she   had  not  gone^ 

William Sounds   of   loud  voices   were  heard  in  the 

garden,  and  the  lean  woman  in  the  white  muslin  repeated 
some  charge.  Esther  ran  out  to  see  what  was  happening, 
and  there  she  witnessed  a  disgraceful  scene.  The  lean 
woman  in  the  muslin  dress  and  the  amber  beads  accused 
young  Mr,  Preston  of  something  which  he  denied,  and  she 
heard  William  tell  someone  that  he  was  mistaken,  that  he 
and  his  pals  didn't  want  no  rowing  at  this  'ere  ball,  and 
what  was  more  they  didn't  mean  to  have  none. 

So  her  heart  filled  with  love  for  her  big  William.  What 
a  fine  fellow  he  was !  and  how  handsome  were  his 
shoulders  beside  that  round-shouldered  little  man  whom 
he  so  easily  pulled  aside !  and  having  crushed  out  the 
quarrel,  he  helped  her  on  with  her  jacket,  and,  hanging  on 
his  arm,  they  returned  home  through  the  little  town, 
Margaret  following  them  with  the  railway  porter ;  Sarah 
came  next  with  a  faithful  admirer,  a  man  with  a  red  beard, 
whom  she  had  picked  up  at  the  ball  ;  Grover  waddled  in 
the  dim  rear,  embarrassed  with  the  green  silk,  which  she 
held  high  out  of  the  dust  of  the  road. 

The  barren  downs — more  tin-like  than  ever  in  the 
shadowless  light  of  dawn — stretched  across  the  sunrise 
from  Lancing  to  Brighton,  and  Esther  looked  at  the  hills, 
examining  the  landscape  intently,  remembering  the  first 
time  she  saw  it,  and  some  vague  association  of  colours — 
the  likeness  that  the  morning  landscape  bore  to  the  even- 
ing landscape,  or  the  wish  to  prolong  the  sweetness  of  these, 
the  last  moments  of  her  happiness — impelled  her  to  linger 
and  to  ask  William  if  the  woods  and  fields  were  not  beauti-  u/ 
ful.     The  too  familiar  landscape  awoke  in  William  neither 


76  ESTHER  WATERS 

idea  nor  sensation  ;  Esther  interested  him  mure^  and  while 
^she  gazed  dreamily  on  the  hills  he  admired  the  white  curve 
"'  of  her  neck  which  showed  beneath  the  unbuttoned  jacket. 
She  never  looked  prettier  than  she  did  that  morning, 
standing  on  the  dusty  road,  her  white  dress  crumpled,  the 
ends  of  the  blue  sash  hanojino:  beneath  the  black  cloth 
jacket. 


XI. 

For  days  nothing  was  talked  of  but  the  ball — how  this 
man  had  danced,  the  bad  taste  of  this  woman's  dress,  and 
the  possibility  of  a  marriage.  The  ball  had  brought 
amusement  to  all,  to  Esther  it  had  brought  happiness. 
Her  happiness  was  now  visible  in  her  face  and  audible  in 
her  voice,  and  Sarah's  ironical  allusions  to  her  inability  to 
learn  to  read  no  longer  annoyed  her,  no  longer  stirred  her 
temper — her  love  seemed  to  induce  forgiveness  for  all  and 
love  for  everything. 

In  the  evenings  when  their  work  was  done  Esther  and 
her  lover  lingered  about  the  farm  buildings,  listening  to 
the  rooks,  seeing  the  lights  die  in  the  west ;  and  in  the 
summer  darkness  about  nine  she  tripped  by  his  side  when 
he  took  the  letters  to  post.  The  wheat  stacks  were 
thatching,  and  in  the  rickyard,  in  the  carpenter's  shop,  and 
in  the  warm  valleys,  listening  to  the  sheep  bells  tinkling, 
they  often  lay  together  talking  of  love  and  marriage,  till 
one  evening,  putting  his  pipe  aside,  William  threw  his  arm 
round  her,  whispering  that  she  was  his  wife.  The  words 
were  delicious  in  her  fainting  ears.  She  could  not  put 
him  away,  nor  could  she  struggle  with  him,  though  she 
knew  that  her  fate  depended  upon  her  resistance,  and 
swooning  away  she  awakened  in  pain,  powerless  to  free 
herself.  .  .  .  Soon  after  thoughts  betook  themselves  on 
their  painful  way,  and  the  stars  were   shining  when   he 


ESTHER  WATERS  77 

followed  her  across  the  down,  beseeching  her  to  listen. 
But  she  fled  along  the  grey  road  and  up  the  stairs  to  her 
room.  Margaret  was  in  bed,  and  awakening  a  little  asked 
her  what  had  kept  her  out  so  late.  She  didn't  answer  and 
hearing  Margaret  fall  asleep  she  remembered  the  supper- 
table.  Sarah,  who  had  come  in  late,  had  sat  down  by  her  ; 
William  sat  on  the  opposite  side  ;  Mrs.  Latch  was  in  her 
place,  the  jockeys  were  all  together;  Mr.  Swindles,  his 
snuff-box  on  the  table  ;  Margaret  and  Grover.  Everyone 
had  drunk  a  great  deal ;  and  Mr.  Leopold  had  gone  to  the 
beer  cellar  many  times.  She  thought  that  she  remem- 
bered feeling  a  little  dizzy  when  William  asked  her  to 
come  for  a  stroll  up  the  hill,  and  after  passing  through  the 
hunting  gate  they  had  wandered  into  the  loneliness  of  the 
hills.  Over  the  folded  sheep  the  rooks  came  home  noisily 
through  a  deepening  sky.  So  far  she  remembered,  and 
she  could  not  remember  further  ;  and  all  night  lay  staring 
into  the  darkness,  and  when  Margaret  called  her  in  the 
morning  she  was  pale  and  deathlike. 

'^  Whatever  is  the  matter }     You  do  look  ill." 

"  I  didn't  sleep  all  last  night.  My  head  aches  as  if  it 
would  drop  off.  I  don't  feel  as  if  I  could  go  to  work 
to-day." 

"That's  the  worst  of  being  a  servant.  Well  or  ill,  it 
makes  no  matter."  She  turned  from  the  glass,  and  hold- 
ing her  hair  in  her  left  hand,  leaned  her  head  so  that  she 
might  pin  it.     "  You  do  look  bad,"  she  remarked  dryly. 

Never  had  they  been  so  late  !  Half-past  seven,  and  the 
shutters  still  up !  So  Margaret  said  as  they  hurried 
downstairs,  but  Esther  had  no  thought  for  anything  but 
William.  She  had  seen  him  cleaning  boots  in  the  pantry 
as  they  passed,  and  knew  he  was  waiting  till  he  heard 
the  baize  door  which  separated  the  back  from  the  front 
of  the  house  close.  She  heard  him  coming  to  meet 
her,  but  meeting  his  mother  in  the  passage  he  mumbled 


78  ESTHER  WATERS 

some  excuse,  and  retreated.  As  there  were  visitors  in  the 
house,  he  had  a  good  deal  to  do  that  morning,  and  Esther 
kept  close  to  Mrs.  Latch  ;  but  at  breakfast  it  suddenly 
became  necessary  that  she  should  answer  him,  and  Sarah 
saw  that  Esther  and  William  were  no  longer  friends. 

''  Well  I  never  !  Look  at  her  !  She  sits  there  over  her 
tea-cup  as  melancholy  as  a  prayer-meeting." 

"  What  is  it  to  you  ?"  said  William. 

'^  What's  it  to  me  ?  I  don't  like  an  ugly  face  at  the 
breakfast-table,  that's  all." 

"  I  wouldn't  be  your  looking-glass,  then.  Luckily  there 
isn't  one  here." 

In  the  midst  of  an  angry  altercation,  Esther  walked  out 
of  the  room.  During  dinner  she  hardly  spoke  at  all. 
After  dinner  she  went  to  her  room,  and  did  not  come 
down  until  she  thought  William  had  gone  out  with  the 
carriage.  But  she  was  too  soon,  he  came  running  down  the 
passage  to  meet  her.  He  laid  his  hand  supplicatingly  on 
her  arm. 

^'  Don't  touch  me  !"  she  said,  and  her  eyes  filled  with 
dangerous  light. 

''  Now,  Esther !     Come,  don't  lay  it  on  too  thick  !" 

"  Go  away.     Don't  speak  to  me  !" 

"  Just  listen  one  moment,  that's  all." 

"Go  away.  If  you  don't,  I'll  go  straight  to  Mrs. 
Barfield." 

She  passed  into  the  kitchen  and  shut  the  door  in  his 
face.  He  had  gone  a  trifle  pale,  and  after  lingering  a  few 
moments  he  hurried  away  to  the  stables,  and  Esther  saw 
him  spring  on  the  box. 

As  it  was  frequent  with  Esther  not  to  speak  to  anyone 
with  whom  she  had  had  a  dispute  for  a  week  or  fifteen 
days,  her  continued  sulk  excited  little  suspicion,  and  the 
cause  of  the  quarrel  was  attributed  to  some  trifle.  Sarah 
said: 


ESTHER  WATERS  79 

"  Men  are  such  fools.  He  is  always  begging  of  her  to 
forgive  him.  Just  look  at  him — he  is  still  after  her, 
following  her  into  the  wood-shed." 

She  rarely  answered  him  a  yes  or  no,  but  would  push 
past  him,  and  if  he  forcibly  barred  the  way  she  would  say, 
"  Let  me  go  by,  will  you  }  You  are  interfering  with  my 
work."  And  if  he  still  insisted,  she  spoke  of  appealing  to 
Mrs.  Barfield.  And  if  her  heart  sometimes  softened,  and 
an  insidious  thought  whispered  that  it  did  not  matter  since 
they  were  going  to  be  married,  instinct  forced  her  to  repel 
him ;  her  instinct  was  that  she  could  only  win  his  respect 
by  refusing  forgiveness  for  a  long  while.  The  religion  in 
which  her  soul  moved  and  lived — the  sternest  Protes- 
tantism— strengthened  and  enforced  the  original  convic- 
tions and  the  prejudices  of  her  race  ;  and  the  natural 
shame  which  she  had  first  felt  almost  disappeared  in  the 
violence  of  her  virtue.  She  even  ceased  to  fear  discovery. 
What  did  it  matter  who  knew,  since  she  knew  ?  She 
opened  her  heart  to  God,  and  Christ  looked  down,  but  He 
seemed  stern  and  unforgiving.  Her  Christ  was  the  Christ 
of  her  forefathers  ;  and  He  had  not  forgiven,  because  she 
could  not  forgive  herself.  Hers  was  the  unpardonable  sin, 
the  sin  which  her  race  had  elected  to  fight  against,  and 
she  lay  down  weary  and  sullen  at  heart. 

The  days  seemed  to  bring  no  change,  and,  wearied  by 
her  stubbornness,  William  said,  "  Let  her  sulk,"  and  he 
went  out  with  Sarah  ;  and  when  Esther  saw  them  go  down 
the  yard  her  heart  said,  "  Let  him  take  her  out,  I  don't 
want  him."  For  she  knew  it  to  be  a  trick  to  make  her 
jealous,  and  that  he  should  dare  such  a  trick  angered  her 
still  further  against  him,  and  when  they  met  in  the  garden, 
where  she  had  gone  with  some  food  for  the  cats,  and  he 
said,  "  Forgive  me,  Esther,  I  only  went  out  with  Sarah 
because  you  drove  me  wild,"  she  closed  her  teeth  and 
refused  to  answer.     But  he  stood  in  her  path,  determined 


80  ESTHER  WATERS 

not  to  leave  her.  '^  I  am  very  fond  of  you,  Esther,  and  I 
will  marry  you  as  soon  as  I  have  earned  enough  or  won 
enough  money  to  give  you  a  comfortable  'ome." 

"  You  are  a  wicked  man  ;   I  will  never  marry  you." 

''  I  am  very  sorry,  Esther.  But  I  am  not  as  bad  as  you 
think  for.  You  let  your  temper  get  the  better  of  you.  So 
soon  as  I  have  got  a  bit  of  money  together " 

"  If  you  were  a  good  man  you  would  ask  me  to  marry 
you  now." 

"  I  will  if  you  like,  but  the  truth  is  that  I  have  only 
three  pounds  in  the  world.  I  have  been  unlucky 
lately " 

"  You  think  of  nothing  but  that  wicked  betting.  Come, 
let  me  pass  ;  I'm  not  going  to  listen  to  a  lot  of  lies.*^' 

"After  the  Leger " 

"  Let  me  pass.      I  will  not  speak  to  you." 

"  But  look  here,  Esther  :  marriage  or  no  marriage,  we 
can't  go  on  in  this  way :  they'll  be  suspecting  something 
shortly." 

"  I  shall  leave  Woodview."  She  had  hardly  spoken  the 
words  when  it  seemed  clear  to  her  that  she  must  leave, 
and  the  sooner  the  better.  "Come,  let  me  pass.  If 
Mrs.  Barfield " 

An  angry  look  passed  over  William's  face,  and  he 
said  ; 

"  I  want  to  act  honest  with  you,  and  you  won't  let  me. 
If  ever  there  was  a  sulky  pig  !  Sarah's  quite  right ;  you 
are  just  the  sort  that  would  make  hell  of  a  man's  life." 

She  did  not  answer,  nor  did  she  care  what  he  said  ;  her 
business  was  to  make  him  respect  her.  She  had  vaguely 
felt  from  the  beginning  that  this  was  her  only  hope,  and 
now  the  sensation  developed  and  defined  itself  into  a 
thought,  and  she  decided  that  she  would  not  yield,  but 
would  continue  to  affirm  her  belief  that  he  must  acknow- 
ledge his  sin,  and  then  come  and  ask  her  to  marry  him. 


ESTHER  WATERS  «1 

Above  all  things,,  Esther  desired  to  see  William  repentant. 
Her  natural  piety,  filling  as  it  did  her  entire  life,  uncon- 
scioiisly  made  her  deem  repentance  an  essential  condition 
of  their  happiness.  How  could  they  be  happy  if  he  were 
not  a  God-fearing  man  ?  And  she  was  convinced  that  she 
could  not  marry  him  until  he  had  asked  forgiveness  of  the 
Lord.  But  rays  of  passion  pierced  her  stubborn  nature, 
dissolving  it,  and  her  eyes  sought  William's,  and  her  steps 
strayed  from  the  kitchen  when  her  ears  told  her  he  was 
in  the  passage.  At  last  her  love  went  out  freely  to 
William,  but  when  she  longed  to  throw  herself  in  his  arms, 
saying,  "  Yes,  I  love  you ;  make  me  your  wife,"  she 
noticed,  or  thought  she  noticed,  that  he  avoided  her  eyes, 
and  she  felt  that  thoughts  of  which  she  knew  nothing 
had  obtained  a  footing  in  his  mind. 

Her  heart  being  intent  on  him,  she  was  aware  of  much 
that  escaped  the  ordinary  eye,  and  she  was  the  first  to 
notice  when  the  drawing-room  bell  rang,  and  Mr.  Leopold 
rose,  that  William  would  say,  "  My  legs  are  the  youngest, 
don't  you  stir."  No  one  else,  not  even  Sarah,  thought 
William  intended  more  than  to  keep  in  Mr.  Leopold's 
good  graces,  but  Esther,  although  unable  to  guess  the 
truth,  heard  the  still  tinkling  bell  ringing  the  knell  of 
her  hopes.  She  noted,  too,  the  time  he  remained  upstairs, 
and  asked  herself  anxiously  what  it  was  that  detained  him 
so  long.  The  weather  had  turned  colder  lately.  Could 
it  be  that  a  fire  was  wanted  ?  In  the  course  of  the  after- 
noon, she  heard  from  Margaret  that  Miss  Mary  and 
Mrs.  Barfield  had  gone  to  Southwick  to  make  a  call,  and 
on  her  way  past  the  stables  to  the  garden  she  learnt  from 
one  of  the  stable  lads  that  the  Gaffer  and  Ginger  had 
ridden  over  in  the  morning  to  Fendon  Fair,  and  had  not 
yet  returned,  So  it  must  have  been  Peggy  who  rang  the 
bell.  Peggy  ?  And  she  remembered  something  she  had 
almost   forgotten.     The    first   Sunday,   the  first  time  she 


82  ESTHER  WATERS 

went  to  the  library  for  family  prayers,  Peggy  was  sitting 
on  the  little  green  sofa,  and  as  Esther  passed  across  the 
room  to  her  place  she  saw  her  cast  a  glance  of  admiration 
on  William's  tall  figure,  and  the  memory  of  that  glance 
shot  up  like  a  flame,  and  all  that  night  Esther  saw  the 
girl  with  the  pale  face  and  the  coal-black  hair  looking  at 
her  William. 

And  next  day  she  waited  for  the  bell  that  was  to  call 
her  lover  from  her.  The  afternoon  wore  away  in  nervous 
apprehensions,  and  at  three  o'clock  she  began  to  hope  she 
was  mistaken ;  at  ten  minutes  past  the  metal  tongue 
tinkled  and  she  heard  the  baize  door  close  behind  him. 
A  moment  after  all  was  still  in  the  corridor,  and  like  one 
sunk  to  the  knees  in  quicksands  she  felt  the  time  had 
come  for  a  decided  effort.  But  what  could  she  do  ?  She 
could  not  follow  him  through  the  baize  door  and  into  the 
drawing-room.  If  she  got  there  what  then  ?  she  might 
be  mistaken.  But  no,  there  was  something  in  it,  her 
heart  told  her  so,  and  she  began  to  remember  that  he  no 
longer  sought  her  forgiveness  ;  he  seemed  to  avoid  her. 
And  now  her  temper  and  pride  fell  from  her,  and  she 
lived  conscious  only  of  him,  noting  every  sign,  and 
intensely,  all  that  related  to  him,  divining  all  his  thoughts, 
and  meeting  him  in  the  passage  when  he  least  expected  her. 

'^I'm  always  getting  in  your  way,"  she  said,  with  a  low, 
nervous  laugh. 

"  No  harm  in  that ;  we're  fellow  servants ;  there  must 
be  give  and  take." 

They  stood  looking  at  each  other,  with  an  explanation 
on  their  lips  ;  but  at  that  moment  the  drawing-room  bell 
rang  above  their  heads,  and  William  said,  "  I  must  answer 
that  bell."  And  before  she  could  say  another  word  he 
had  passed  through  the  baize  door. 

Sarah  remarked  that  W^illiam  seemed  to  spend  a  great 
deal  of  his  time  in  the  drawing-room,  and  Esther  started 


ESTHER  WATERS  85 

out  of  her  moodiness,  and,  speaking  instinctively,  she  said, 
"  I  don't  think  much  of  ladies  who  go  after  their  servants." 

Everybody  looked  up.  Mrs.  Latch  laid  her  carving-knife 
on  the  meat  and  fixed  her  eyes  on  her  son. 

"  Lady  ?"  said  Sarah  ;  "  she's  no  lady  !  Her  mother 
used  to  mop  out  the  yard  before  she  was  ^  churched.'  " 

"I  can  tell  you  what,"  said  William,  "you  had  better 
mind  what  you  are  a-saying  of,  for  if  any  of  your  talk  got 
wind  upstairs  you'd  lose  yer  situation,  and  it  might  be 
some  time  before  yer  got  another !" 

"  Lose  my  situation  !  and  a  good  job,  too.  I  shall  alwa3^s 
be  able  to  suit  mesel' ;  don't  you  fear  about  me.  But  if  it 
comes  to  talking  about  situations,  I  can  tell  you  that  you 
are  more  likely  to  get  the  sack  than  I  am." 

William  hesitated,  and  while  he  sought  for  a  spiteful 
answer,  Mr.  Leopold  advised  that  nothing  more  should  be 
said,  and  his  eyes  went  to  the  jockey-boys  who  were 
exchanging  grins  ;  Sarah  sulked,  Mr.  Swindles  pursed  up 
his  mouth,  and  fell  to  thinking  that  it  would  be  no  easy 
matter  to  keep  Miss  Peggy  out  of  the  gossip  in  the  "  Red 
Lion,"  and  that  it  was  a  dead  cert,  that  in  the  next  day  or 
two  she  would  be  the  talk  of  the  town. 

At  four  o'clock  Esther  saw  Mrs.  Barfield  and  the  young 
ladies  walk  across  the  yard  towards  the  garden,  and  as  she 
had  to  go  soon  after  to  the  wood-shed  she  got  a  peep  of 
^^^ggy  escaping  through  the  wicket.  "  Going  back  to  the 
drawing-room,"  Esther  said,  and  she  returned  to  the  kitclieii 
and  stood  waiting  for  the  bell  to  ring.  Nor  had  she  to  wait 
long.  The  bell  tinkled  a  moment  after,  but  so  faintly  th-at 
Esther  said,  "  She  only  just  touched  it;  it  is  a  signal;  he  was 
on  the  look-out  for  it ;  she  didn't  want  anyone  else  to  hear." 

And  then  Esther  remembered  Peggy's  fortune,  some 
thousands  of  pounds.  There  was  no  hope  for  her.  How 
could  there  be  ^  Her  poor  little  wages  and  her  print 
dress  !     He  would  never  look  at  her  a^ain  I     But  oh  I  how 


/ 


84  ESTHER  WATERS 

cruel  and  wicked  it  was  !  How  could  one  who  had  so 
much  come  to  steal  from  one  who  had  so  little  ?  Oh,  it 
was  very  cruel  and  very  wicked^,  and  no  good  would  come 
of  it  either  to  her  or  to  him ;  of  that  she  felt  quite  sure. 
^^  For  God  always  punished  the  wicked.  She  knew  he  did  not 
.{  love  Peggy.  It  was  sin  and  shame  ;  and  after  his  promises 
i^j^W-after  what  had  happened.  Never  would  she  have 
.  ?  j  believed  him  to  be  so  false.  Then  her  thought  turned  to 
passionate  hatred  of  the  girl  v/ho  was  robbing  her.  He 
had  gone  through  that  baize  door,  and  no  doubt  was 
sitting  by  Peggy  in  the  new  drawing-room.  He  had  gone 
where  she  could  not  follow.  He  had  gone  where  the 
grand  folk  lived  in  idleness,  in  the  sinfulness  of  the  world 
and  the  flesh,  eating  and  gambling,  thinking  of  nothing 
else,  with  servants  to  wait  on  them,  obeying  their  orders 
and  saving  them  from  every  trouble.  She  knew  that  these 
fine  folk  thought  servants  inferior  beings.  But  they  were 
all  of  the  same  flesh  and  blood.  Peggy  wore  a  fine  dress, 
but  she  was  no  better ;  take  oft'  her  dress  and  they  were 
the  same,  woman  to  woman. 

She  pushed  through  the  door  and  walked  down  the 
passage.  A  few  steps  brought  her  to  the  foot  of  a  polished 
oak  staircase,  lit  by  a  large  window  in  coloured  glass,  on 
either  side  of  which  there  were  statues.  The  staircase 
sloped  slowly  to  an  imposing  landing  set  out  with  columns 
and  blue  vases  and  embroidered  curtains.  The  girl  saw 
these  things  vaguely,  and  she  was  conscious  of  a  profusion 
of  rugs,  matting,  and  bright  doors,  and  of  her  inability  to 
decide  which  door  was  the  drawing -room  door  —  the 
drawing-room  of  which  she  had  heard  so  much,  and  where 
even  now,  amid  gold  furniture  and  flower- scented  air, 
William  listened  to  the  wicked  woman  who  had  tempted 
him  away  from  her.  A  door  opened,  William  appeared, 
and  seeing  Esther  he  seemed  uncertain  whether  to  draw 
back  or  come  forward  ;  and  then  his  face  caught  an  ex- 


ESTHER  WATERS  85 

pressiou  of  mixed  fear  and  anger  ;   and  coming  rapidly 
towards  her,  he  said : 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  Then  changing  his 
voice,  "This  is  against  the  rules  of  the  'ouse." 

"I  want  to  see  her." 

"Anything  else?  What  do  you  want  to  say  to  her? 
1  won't  have  it,  I  tell  you.  What  do  you  mean  by  spying 
after  me  ?     That's  your  game,  is  it  ?" 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  her." 

With  averted  face  the  young  lady  fled  up  the  oak  stair- 
case, her  handkerchief  to  her  lips.  Esther  made  a  move- 
ment as  if  to  follow,  but  William  prevented  her.  She 
turned  and  walked  down  the  passage  and  entered  the 
kitchen.  Her  face  was  one  white  tint,  her  short,  strong 
arms  hung  tremblingly,  and  William  saw  that  it  would  be 
better  to  temporise. 

"Now  look  here,  Esther,"  he  said,  "you  ought  to  be 
damned  thankful  to  me  for  having  prevented  you  from 
making  a  fool  of  yourself." 

Esther's  eyelids  quivered,  and  then  her  eyes  dilated. 

"  Now,  if  Miss  Margaret,"  continued  William,  "  had " 

"Go  away!   go  away!     I  am "     At  that  moment 

the  steel  of  a  large,  sharp-pointed  knife  lying  on  the  table  ^  h 
caught  her  eye.     She  snatched  it  up,  and  seeing  blood 
she  rushed  at  him.  / 

William  retreated   from  her,  and  Mrs.   Latch,  coming       ^ 
suddenly  in,  caught  her  arm.     Esther  threw  the  knife  ;  it 
struck  the  wall,  falling  with  a  rattle  on  the  meat  screen. 
She  rushed  to  secure  it,  but  her  strength  gave  way,  and 
she  fell  back  in  a  dead  faint. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  to  the  girl  ?"  said  Mrs. 
Latch. 

"  Nothing,  mother.  We  had  a  few  words,  that  was  all. 
She  said  I  shouldn't  go  out  with  Sarah." 

"  That  is  not  true.     I  can  read  the  lie  in  your  face ;  a 


86  ESTHER  WATERS 

girl  doesn't  take  up  a  knife  unless  a  man  wellnigh  drives 
her  mad." 

"  That's  right ;  always  side  against  your  son  !  If  you 
don't  believe  me,  get  what  you  can  out  of  her  yourself." 

Mrs.  Latch  saw  him  pass  down  the  yard  towards  the 
stables,  and  when  Esther  opened  her  eyes  she  looked  at 
Mrs.  Latch  questioningly,  unable  to  understand  why  the 
old  woman  was  standing  by  her. 

"  Are  you  better  now,  dear  ?" 

"  Yes,  but— but  what "  Then  remembrance  strug- 
gled back.  "  Is  he  gone  ?  Did  I  strike  him  ?  I  remember 
that  I " 

"You  didn't  hurt  him." 

"I  don't  Avant  to  see  him  again.  Far  better  not.  I 
was  mad.     1  didn't  know  what  I  was  doing." 

"  You  will  tell  me  about  it  another  time,  dear." 

"  Where  is  he  ?  tell  me  that ;  I  must  know." 

"  Gone  to  the  stables,  I  think;  but  you  must  not  go  after 
him — you'll  see  him  to-morrow." 

"  I  do  not  want  to  go  after  him  ;  but  lie  isn't  hurt  ? 
That's  what  I  want  to  know." 

"No,  he  isn't  hurt.  You're  getting  stronger.  Lean 
on  me.  You'll  begin  to  feel  better  when  you  are  in  bed. 
I'll  bring  you  up  your  tea." 

"  Yes,  I  shall  be  all  right  presently.  But  how'll  you 
manage  to  get  the  dinner  ?" 

"  Don't  you  worry  about  that ;  you  go  upstairs  and  lie 
down." 

A  desolate  hope  floated  over  the  surface  of  her  brain 
that  William  might  be  brought  back  to  her. 

In  the  evening  the  Idtchen  was  full  of  people :  Margaret, 
Sarah,  and  Grover  were  there,  and  she  heard  that  immedi- 
ately after  lunch  Mr.  Leopold  had  been  sent  for,  and  the 
Gaffer  had  instructed  him  to  pay  William  a  month's  wages, 
and  see  that  he  left  the  house  that  very  instant.     Sarah, 


ESTHER  WATERS  87 

Margaret,  and  Grover  watched  Esther's  face  and  were 
surprised  at  her  indifference.  She  even  seemed  pleased. 
She  was  pleased;  nothing  better  could  have  happened. 
William  was  now  separated  from  her  rival,  and  released  from 
her  bad  influence  he  would  return  to  his  real  love.  At  the 
first  sign  she  would  go  to  him,  she  would  forgive  him.  But  a 
little  later,  when  the  dishes  came  down  from  the  dining- 
room,  it  was  whispered  that  Peggy  was  not  there. 

Later  in  the  evening,  when  the  servants  were  going  to 
bed,  it  became  known  that  she  had  taken  the  six  o'clock 
to  Brighton.  Esther  turned  from  the  foot  of  the  stair  with 
a  wild  look.     Margaret  caught  her. 

^'  It's  no  use,  dear ;  you  can  do  nothing  to-night." 
"  I  can  walk  to  Brighton." 

''  No  you  can't ;  you  don't  know  the  way,  and  even  if 
you  did  you  don't  know  where  they  are." 

Neither  Sarah  nor  Grover  made  any  remark,  and  in 
silence  the  servants  went  to  their  rooms.  Margaret  closed 
the  door  and  turned  to  look  at  Esther,  who  had  fallen  on 
the  chair,  her  eyes  fixed  in  vacancy. 

"  I  know  what  it  is ;  I  was  the  same  when  Jim  Story  got 
the  sack.  It  seems  as  if  one  couldn't  live  through  it,  and 
yet  one  does  somehow." 

^'  I  wonder  if  they'll  marry." 
"  Most  likely.  She  has  a  lot  of  money." 
Two  days  after  a  cab  stood  in  the  yard  in  front  of  the 
kitchen  window.  Peggy's  luggage  was  being  piled  upon 
it — two  large,  handsome  basket  boxes  with  the  initials 
painted  on  them :  and,  kneeling  on  the  box-seat,  the 
coachman  leaned  over  the  roof  making  room  for  another 
— a  small  box  covered  with  red  cowhide  and  tied  with  a 
rope.  And  the  little  box  in  its  poor  simplicity  brought 
William  back  to  Esther,  whelming  her  for  a  moment  in  so 
acute  a  sense  of  her  loss  that  she  had  to  leave  the  kitchen. 
She  went  into  the  scullery,  drew  the  door  after  her,  sat 


88  ESTHER  WATERS 

doAvn,  and  hid  her  face  in  her  apron.  A  stifled  sob  or  two_, 
and  then  she  recovered  her  habitual  gravity  of  expression, 
and  continued  her  work  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 


XII. 

"  They  are  just  crazy  about  it  upstairs.  Ginger  and  the 
Gaffer  are  the  worst.  They  say  they  had  better  sell  the 
place  and  build  another  house  somewhere  else.  None  of 
the  county  people  will  call  on  them  now — and  just  as  they 
were  beginning  to  get  on  so  well !  Miss  Mary^  too^  is  terrible 
cut  up  about  it ;  she  says  it  will  interfere  with  her  prospects, 
and  that  Ginger  has  nothing  to  do  now  but  to  marry  the 
kitchen-maid  to  complete  the  ruin  of  the  Barfields." 

"  Miss  Mary  is  far  too  kind  to  say  anything  to  wound 
another's  feelings.  It  was  only  a  nasty  old  deceitful  thing 
like  yourself  who  could  think  of  such  a  thing." 

"Eh,  you  got  it  there,  my  lady,"  said  Sarah,  who  had 
had  a  difference  with  Grover,  and  was  anxious  to 
avenge  it. 

Grover  looked  at  Sarah  in  astonishment,  and  her  look 
clearly  said,  "  Is  everyone  going  to  side  with  that  little 
kitchen-maid  ?" 

Then,  to  flatter  Mrs.  Latch,  Sarah  spoke  of  the  position 
the  Latches  had  held  three  generations  ago ;  the  Barfields 
were  then  nobodies  ;  they  had  nothing  even  now  but 
their  money,  and  that  had  come  out  of  a  livery  stable. 
"  And  it  shows,  too  ;  just  compare  Ginger  with  young 
Preston  or  young  Northcote.  Anyone  could  tell  the 
difference." 

Esther  listened  with  an  unmoved  face  and  a  heavy  ache 
in  her  heart.  She  had  now  not  an  enemy  nor  yet  an 
opponent;  the  cause  of  rivalry  and  jealousy  being  removed, 
all  were  sorry  for  her.     They  recognised  -that    she    had 


ESTHER  WATERS  89 

suffered  and  was  suffering,  and  seeing  none  but  friends 
about  her,  she  was  led  to  think  how  happy  she  might 
have  been  in  this  beautiful  house  if  it  had  not  been  for 
William.  She  lovedher  work,  for  she  was  working  for 
those  she  loved.  She  could  imagiiie"no  life^happier  than 
her?~mighThave  been.  But  she  had  sinned,  and  the  Lord 
had  punished  her  for  sin,  and  she  must  bear  her  punish- 
ment uncomplainingly,  giving  Him  thanks  that  He  had 
imposed  no  heavier  one  upon  her. 

Such  reflection  was  the  substance  of  Esther's  mind  for 
three  months  after  William's  departure ;  and  in  the  after- 
noons, about  three  o'clock,  when  her  work  paused,  Esther's 
thoughts  w^ould  congregate  and  settle  on  the  great 
misfortune  of  her  life — William's  desertion. 

It  was  one  afternoon  at  the  beginning  of  December ; 
Mrs.  Latch  had  gone  upstairs  to  lie  down,  and  Esther  had 
drawn  her  chair  towards  the  fire ;  a  broken-down  race- 
horse, his  legs  bandaged  from  his  knees  to  his  fetlocks, 
had  passed  up  the  yard  ;  he  was  going  for  walking  exercise 
on  the  downs,  and  when  the  sound  of  his  hoofs  had  died 
away  Esther  was  quite  alone.  She  sat  on  her  wooden 
chair  facing  the  wide  kitchen  window.  She  had  advanced 
one  foot  on  the  iron  fender ;  her  head  leaned  back,  rested 
on  her  hand.  She  did  not  think — her  mind  was  lost  in 
vague  sensation  of  William,  and  it  was  in  this  death  of 
active  memory  that  something  awoke  within  her,  something 
that  seemed  to  her  like  a  flutter  of  wings  ;  her  heart  seemed 
to  drop  from  its  socket,  and  she  nearly  fainted  away,  but 
recovering  herself  she  stood  by  the  kitchen  table,  a  death- 
like pallor  over  her  face,  with  drops  of  sweat  on  her  forehead. 
The  truth  was  borne  in  upon  her  ;  she  foresaw  the  drama  that 
awaited  her,  from  which  nothing  could  free  her,  which  she 
would  have  to  live  through  hour  by  hour.  And  it  seemed  so 
dreadful  that  she  thought  her  brain  must  give  way.  She 
would    have    to    leave    Woodview.     Oh,    the    shame    of 


90  ESTHER  WATERS 

confession  !  Mrs.  Barfield,  who  had  been  so  s^ood  to  her 
and  who  thought  so  highly  of  her.  Her  father  would  not 
have  her  at  home ;  she  would  be  homeless  in  London.  No 
hope  of  obtaining  a  situation.  They  would  send  her  away 
without  a  character,  homeless  in  London,  and  every  month 
her  position  growing  more  desperate. 

A  sickly  faintness  crept  up  through  her.  The  flesh  had 
come  to  the  relief  of  the  spirit ;  and  she  sank  upon  her  chair, 
almost  unconscious,  sick,  it  seemed,  to  death,  and  she  rose 
from  the  chair  wiping  her  forehead  slowly  with  her  apron. 
She  might  be  mistaken.  And  she  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands,  and  then,  falling  on  her  knees,  her  arms  thrown 
forward  upon  the  table,  she  prayed  for  strength  to  walk 
without  flinching  under  any  cross  that  He  had  thought  fit 
to  lay  upon  her. 

There  was  still  the  hope  that  she  might  be  mistaken  ; 
and  this  hope  lasted  for  one  week,  for  two,  but  at  the  end 
of  the  third  week  it  perished,  and  she  abandoned  herself 
in  prayer.  She  prayed  for  strength  to  endure  with  courage 
what  she  now  knew  she  must  endure,  and  she  prayed  for 
light  to  guide  her  in  her  present  decision.  Mrs.  Barfield, 
however  much  she  might  pity  her,  could  not  keep  her 
once  she  knew  the  truth,  whereas  none  might  know  the 
truth  if  she  did  not  tell  it.  She  might  remain  at  Wood- 
view  earning  another  quarter's  wages  ;  the  first  she  had 
spent  on  boots  and  clothes,  the  second  she  had  just  been 
paid.  If  she  stayed  on  for  another  quarter  she  would  have 
eight  pounds,  and  with  that  money,  and  much  less  time  to 
keep  herself,  she  might  be  able  to  pull  through.  But 
would  she  be  able  to  go  three  whole  months  ^^dthout 
anyone  seeing  how  big  she  was  getting,  till  her  next  wages 
came  due  ?     She  must  risk  it. 

She  went  about  her  work,  leaving  nothing  undone,  and 
doing  everything  so  well  that  no  fault  could  be  found,  her 
aim  being  to  escape  notice ;  and  as  she  perceived  no  bodily 


ESTHER  WATERS  91 

change  in  herself  during  tlie  fifth  month  slie  began  to 
think  she  might  risk  another  month.  Another  month 
passed^  and  Esther  was  preparing  for  departure,  when  a 
whisper  went  round,  and  before  she  could  take  steps  to 
leave  she  was  told  that  Mrs.  Barfield  wished  to  see  her  in 
the  library.  Esther  turned  a  little  pale,  and  the  expression 
of  her  face  altered  ;  it  seemed  to  her  impossible  to  go 
before  Mrs.  Barfield  and  admit  her  shame.  Margaret,  who 
was  standing  near,  and  saw  what  was  passing  in  her  mind, 
said  : 

"  Pull  yourself  together,  Esther.  You  know  the  Saint — 
she's  not  a  bad  sort.  Like  all  the  real  good  ones,  she  is 
kind  enough  to  the  faults  of  others." 

"What's  this?  What's  the  matter  with  Esther?"  said 
Mrs.  Latch,  who  had  not  yet  heard  of  Esther's  misfortune. 

"  I'll  tell  you  presently,  Mrs.  Latch.  Go,  dear,  get  it 
over." 

Esther  hurried  down  the  passage  and  passed  through 
the  baize  door  without  further  thought.  She  had  then 
but  to  turn  to  the  left  and  a  few  steps  would  bring  her  to 
the  library  door.  The  room  was  already  present  in  her 
mind.  She  could  see  it.  The  dim  light,  the  little  green 
sofa,  the  round  table  covered  with  books,  the  piano  at  the 
back,  the  parrot  in  the  corner,  and  the  canaries  in  the 
window.  She  knocked  at  the  door.  The  well-known 
voice  said,  "  Come  in."  She  turned  the  handle,  and  found 
herself  alone  with  her  mistress.  Mrs.  Barfield  laid  down 
the  book  she  was  reading,  and  looked  up.  She  did  not 
look  as  angry  as  Esther  had  imagined,  but  her  voice  was 
harder  than  usual. 

"Is  this  true,  Esther?" 

Esther  hung  down  her  head.  She  could  not  speak  at 
first;  then  she  said,  "  Yes." 

"  I  thought  you  were  a  good  girl,  Esther." 

"So  did  I,  ma'am," 


92  ESTHER  WATERS 

Mrs.  Barfield  looked  at  the  girl  quickly,  hesitated  a 
moment,  and  then  said  : 

"  And  all  this  time — how  long  is  it  ?" 

^^ Nearly  seven  months,  ma'am." 

^^  And  all  this  time  you  were  deceiving  us." 

"  I  was  three  months  gone  before  I  knew  it  myself, 
ma'am." 

"  Three  months !  Then  for  three  months  you  have 
knelt  every  Sunday  in  prayer  in  this  room,  for  twelve 
Sundays  you  sat  by  me  learning  to  read,  and  you  ne^^er 
said  a  word  ?" 

A  certain  harshness  in  Mrs.  Barfield's  voice  awakened 
a  rebellious  spirit  in  Esther,  and  a  lowering  expression 
gathered  above  her  e3'es.     She  said  : 

"  Had  I  told  you,  you  would  have  sent  me  away  then 
and  there.  I  had  only  a  quarter's  wages,  and  should  have 
starved  or  gone  and  drowned  myself." 

'^  I'm  sorry  to  hear  you  speak  like  that,  Esther." 

'^  It's  trouble  that  makes  me,  ma'am,  and  I  have  had 
a  great  deal." 

"^Vhy  did  yoM  not  confide  in  me  ?  I  have  not  shown 
myself  cruel  to  you,  have  I  ?" 

"No,  indeed,  ma'am.  You  are  the  best  mistress  a 
servant  ever  had,  but " 

"  But  what  ?" 

"  Why,  ma'am,  it  is  this  way.  I  hated  being  deceitful 
— indeed  I  did.  But  I  can  no  longer  think  of  myself. 
There  is  another  to  think  for  now." 

There  was  in  Mrs.  Barfield's  look  something  akin  to 
admiration,  and  she  felt  she  had  not  been  wholly  wrong 
in  her  estimate  of  the  girl's  character.  She  said,  and  in 
a  different  intonation  : 

"  Perhaps  you  were  right,  Esther.  I  couldn't  have  kept 
you  on,  on  account  of  the  bad  example  to  the  younger 
servants.     I  might  have  helped  you  with   money.     But 


ESTHER  WATERS  9S 

six  months  alone  in  London  and  in  your  condition  !  I  am 
glad  you  didn't  tell  me,  Esther ;  and  as  you  say  there  is 
another  to  think  of  now,  I  hope  you  will  never  neglect 
your  child,  if  God  give  it  to  you  alive." 

"  I  hope  not,  ma'am ;  I  shall  try  and  do  my  best." 

"  My  poor  girl !  my  poor  girl !  you  do  not  know  what 
trial  is  in  store  for  you.  A  girl  like  you,  and  only  twent}^ ! 
Oh,  it  is  a  shame  !  May  God  give  you  courage  to  bear  up 
in  your  adversity !" 

"  I  know  there  is  many  a  hard  time  before  me,  but  I 
have  prayed  for  strength,  and  God  will  give  me  strength, 
and  I  must  not  complain.  My  case  is  not  so  bad  as  many 
another.  I  have  nearly  eight  pounds.  I  shall  get  on, 
ma'am — that  is  to  say,  if  you  will  stand  by  me  and  not 
refuse  me  a  character." 

"  Can  I  give  you  a  character  ?     You  were  tempted,  you   ^ 
were  led  into  temptation.     I  ought  to  have  watched  over  __J 
you  better — mine  is  the  responsibility.     Tell  me,  it  was 
not  your  fault." 

"  It  is  always  a  woman's  fault,  ma'am.  But  he  should 
not  have  deserted  me  as  he  did — that's  the  only  thing  I 
reproach  him  with ;  the  rest  was  my  fault — I  shouldn't 
have  touched  the  second  glass  of  ale.  Besides,  I  was  in 
love  with  him,  and  you  know  what  that  is.  I  thought  no 
harm,  and  I  let  him  kiss  me.  He  used  to  take  me  out  for  ^ 
walks  on  the  hill  and  round  the  farm.  He  told  me  he  _> 
loved  me,  and  Avould  make  me  his  wife — that's  how  it 
was.  Afterwards  he  asked  me  to  wait  till  after  the  Leger, 
and  that  riled  me,  and  I  knew  then  how  wicked  I  had 
been.  I  would  not  go  out  with  him  or  speak  to  him  any 
more ;  and  while  our  quarrel  was  going  on  Miss  Peggy 
went  after  him,  and  that's  how  I  got  left." 

At  the  mention  of  Peggy's  name  a  cloud  passed  over 
Mrs.  Barfield's  face.  '•'  You  have  been  shamefully  treated, 
my  poor  child.     I  knew  nothing  of  all  this.     So  he  said 


94  ESTHER  WATERS 

he  would  marry  you  if  he  won  his  bet  on  the  Leger  ?  Oh, 
that  betting !  I  know  that  nothing  else  is  thought  of 
here — upstairs  and  downstairs,  the  whole  place  is  poisoned 

with  it — and  it  is  the  fault  of "     Mrs.  Barfield  walked 

hurriedly  across  the  room,  but  when  she  turned  the  sight 
of  Esther  provoked  her  into  speech.     "  I  have  seen  it  all 
/-^    my  life,  nothing  else,  and  I  have  seen  iiotJiing  come  of  it  _ 
)  but  sin  and  sorrow.     You  are  not  the  first  victim.     Ah, 
what  ruin,  what  misery,  what  death  !" 

Mrs.  Barfield  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  as  if  to 
shut  out  the  memories  that  crowded  upon  her. 

"  I  think,  ma'am,  if  you  will  excuse  my  saying  so,  that 
a  great  deal  of  harm  do  come  from  this  betting  on  race- 
horses. The  day  when  you  was  all  away  at  Goodwood 
when  the  horse  won,  I  went  down  to  see  what  the  sea 
was  like  here ;  for  I  was  brought  up  by  the  seaside,  at 
Barnstaple.  On  the  beach  I  met  Mrs.  Leopold — that  is 
to  say,  Mrs.  Randal,  John's  wife ;  she  seemed  to  be  in 
great  trouble,  she  looked  that  melancholy,  and  for 
company's  sake  asked  me  to  come  home  to  tea  with  her. 
She  was  in  that  state  of  mind,  ma'am,  that  she  forgot  the 
teaspoons  w^ere  in  pawn,  and  when  she  couldn't  give  me 
one  she  broke  down,  and  told  me  what  her  troubles  had 
been." 

''  What  did  she  tell  you,  Esther?" 

"  I  hardly  remember,  ma'am,  but  it  was  all  the  same 
thing — ruin  if  the  horse  didn't  win,  and  more  betting  if 
'K  he  did.  But  she  said  they  never  had  been  in  such  a  fix 
as  the  day  Silver  Braid  won.  If  he  had  been  beaten  they 
would  have  been  thrown  out  on  the  street,  and  from  what 
I  have  heard  the  best  half  of  the  town,  too." 

''So  that  little  man  has  suffered.  I  thought  he  was 
wiser  than  the  rest.  This  house  has  been  the  ruin  of  the 
neighbourhood ;  we  have  dispensed  vice  instead  of 
righteousness."     Walking  towards  the  window,  Mrs.  Bar- 


ESTHER  WATERS  '95 

field  continued  to  talk  to  herself.  ''I  have  struggled 
against  the  evil  all  my  life,  and  without  result.  How 
much  more  misery  shall  I  see  come  of  it?"  Turning 
then  to  Esther,  she  said  :  "  Yes,  the  betting  is  an  evil- 
one  from  which  many  have  suifered ;  but  the  question  is 
now  about  yourself,  Esther.    How  much  money  have  you  ?" 

"  I  have  about  eight  pounds,  ma'am." 

"And  how  much  do  you  reckon  will  see  you  through  it?" 

"  I  don't  know,  ma'am ;  I  have  no  experience.  I  think 
father  will  let  me  stay  at  home  if  I  can  pay  my  way.  I 
could  manage  easily  on  seven  shillings  a  week.  When  my 
time  comes  I  shall  go  to  the  hospital." 

While  Esther  spoke  Mrs.  Barfield  reckoned  that  Esther 
would  need  about  ten  pounds.  Her  train  fare,  two 
months'  board  at  seven  shillings  a  week,  the  room  she 
would  have  to  take  near  the  hospital  before  her  confine- 
ment, and  to  which  she  would  return  with  her  baby — all 
these  would  run  to  about  four  or  five  pounds.  There 
would  be  baby's  clothes  to  buy.  If  she  gave  four  pounds, 
Esther  would  be  able  to  manage.  Mrs.  Barfield  went  over 
to  an  old-fashioned  escritoire,  and,  pulling  out  some  small 
drawers,  took  from  one  some  paper  packages,  which  she 
unfolded.  "  Now,  my  girl,  look  here.  I'm  going  to  give 
you  four  pounds.  Twelve  should  see  you  through  your 
trouble.  You  have  been  a  good  servant,  Esther ;  I  like 
you  very  much,  and  am  truly  sorry  to  part  with  you.  You 
will  write  and  tell  me  how  you  are  getting  on,  and  if  one 
of  these  days  you  want  a  place,  and  I  have  one  to  give 
you,  I  shall  be  glad  to  take  you  back." 

If  harshness  deadened,  she  was  easily  moved  by  kind- 
ness, and  she  longed  to  throw  herself  at  her  mistress's 
feet ;  but  her  nature  did  not  admit  of  such  effusion,  and 
she  said,  in  her  blunt  English  way : 

''  You  are  far  too  good,  ma'am.  I  do  not  deserve  such 
treatment — I  know  I  don't." 


96  ESTHER  WATERS 

"  Say  no  more,  Esther.  I  hope  that  the  Lord  may  give 
you  strength  to  bear  your  cross.  Now  go  and  pack  up 
your  box.  But,  Esther,  do  you  feel  your  sin?  Can  you 
truly  say  honestly  before  God  that  you  repent?" 

''Yes,  ma'am,  I  think  I  can  say  all  that." 

"Then,  Esther,  come  and  kneel  down  and  pray  to 
God  to  give  you  strength  in  the  future  to  stand  against 
temptation." 

Mrs.  Barfield  took  Esther's  hand,  and  they  knelt  down 
by  the  round  table,  leaning  their  hands  on  its  edge.  And, 
in  a  high,  clear  voice,  Mrs.  Barfield  prayed  aloud,  Esther 
repeating  the  words  after  her : 

"  Dear  Lord,  Thou  knowest  all  things — knowest  how 
Thy  servant  has  strayed  and  has  fallen  into  sin.  But 
Thou  hast  said  there  is  more  joy  in  heaven  over  one  sinner 
that  repenteth  than  over  ninety  and  nine  just  men. 
Therefore,  Lord,  kneeling  here  before  Thee,  we  pray 
that  this  poor  girl,  who  repents  of  the  evil  she  has  done, 
may  be  strengthened  in  Thy  mercy  to  stand  firm  against 
temptation.  Forgive  her  sin,  even  as  Thou  forgavest  the 
woman  of  Samaria.  Give  her  strength  to  walk  uprightly 
before  Thee,  and  give  her  strength  to  bear  the  pain  and 
the  suffering  that  lie  before  her." 

The  women  rose  from  their  knees  and  stood  looking 
at  each  other.  Esther's  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  Without 
speaking  she  turned  to  go. 

"  One  word  more,  Esther.  You  asked  me  just  now  for 
a  character  ;  I  hesitated,  but  it  seems  to  me  now  that  it 
would  be  wrong  to  refuse.  If  I  did  you  might  never  get  a 
place,  and  then  it  would  be  impossible  to  say  what  might 
happen.  I  am  not  certain  that  I  am  doing  right,  but  I 
know  what  it  means  to  refuse  to  give  a  servant  a  character, 
and  I  cannot  take  upon  myself  the  responsibility." 

Mrs.  Barfield  wrote  out  a  character  for  Esther,  in  which 
she  described  her  as  an  honest,  hard-working  girl.     She 


ESTHER  WATERS  97 

paused  at  the  word    "  reliable/'   and   wrote  instead,  "  I 
believe  her  to  be  at  heart  a  thoroughly  religious  girl." 

Esther  went  upstairs  to  pack  her  box,  and  when  she  came 
down  she  found  all  the  women  in  the  kitchen  ;  evidently 
they  were  waiting  for  her.     Coming  forward,  Sarah  said  : 

"  I  hope  we  shall  part  friends,  Esther  ;  any  quarrels  we 
may  have  had There's  no  ill-feeling  now,  is  there  ?" 

"  I  bear  no  one  any  ill-feeling.  We  have  been  friends 
these  last  months ;  indeed,  everyone  has  been  very  kind 
to  me."     And  Esther  kissed  Sarah  on  both  cheeks. 

''  I'm  sure  we're  all  sorry  to  lose  you,"  said  Margaret, 
pressing  forward,  "  and  we  hope  you'll  write  and  let  us 
know  how  you  are  getting  on." 

Margaret,  who  was  a  tender-hearted  girl,  began  to  cry, 
and,  kissing  Esther,  ghe  declared  that  she  had  never  got 
on  with  a  girl  who  slept  in  her  room  so  well  before. 
Esther  shook  hands  with  Grover,  and  then  her  eyes  met 
Mrs.  Latch's.     The  old  woman  took  her  in  her  arms. 

"  It  breaks  my  heart  to  think  that  one  belonging  to  me 

should  have  done  you  such  a  wrong ■     But  if  you  want 

for  anything  let  me  know,  and  you  shall  have  it.     You 
will  want  money  ;  I  have  some  here  for  you." 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,  but  I  have  all  I  want.  Mrs. 
Barfield  has  been  very  good  to  me." 

The  babbling  of  so  many  voices  drew  Mr.  Leopold  from 
the  pantry ;  he  came  with  a  glass  of  beer  in  his  hand,  and 
this  suggested  a  toast  to  Sarah.  "  Let's  drink  baby's 
health,"  she  said.  "  Mr.  Leopold  won't  refuse  us  the 
beer." 

The  idea  provoked  some  good-natured  laughter,  and 
Esther  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  and  tried  to  get  away. 
But  Margaret  would  not  allow  her.  "  What  nonsense  !" 
she  said.  "  We  don't  think  any  the  worse  of  you  ;  why, 
that's  an  accident  that  might  hapjien  to  any  of  us." 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Esther. 


98  ESTHER  WATERS 

The  jug  of  beer  was  finished  ;  she  was  kissed  and 
hugged  again,  some  tears  M-ere  shed,  and  Esther  walked 
down  the  yard  through  the  stables. 

The  avenue  was  full  of  wind  and  rain ;  the  branches 
creaked  dolefully  overhead  ;  and  the  drenched  lane,  and 
the  bare  fields  fringed  with  white  mist,  were  a  landscape 
in  keeping  with  the  girl's  soul.  She  had  come  to 
Woodview  to  escape  from  a  home  become  unbearable,  and 
was  going  back  to  it  in  circumstances  a  hundred  times 
worse  than  those  in  which  she  had  left  it ;  all^the  grief 
^  apd  tipuble  that  girls  Q£IiLer_class  have  to^  bear  gathered  in 
.  her  heartwheiT  she  looked  out  of  the  railway  carriage 
window  and  saw  for  the  last  time  the  stiff  plantatiojis  on 
the  downs  and  the  angles  of  the  Italian  house  between  the 
trees.  She  drew  her  handkerchief  from  her  jacket  to 
hide  her  tears  from  her  fellow-travellers  in  the  carriage. 


XIII 

She  had  left  her  box  in  the  cloak-room  at  Victoria,  for  she 
did  not  know  if  her  father  would  have  her  at  home.  Her 
mother  would  tell  her  what  she  thought,  but  no  one  could 
say  for  certain  what  he  would  do.  if  she  brought  the  box 
he  might  fling  it  after  her  into  the  street;  better  come 
without  it,  even  if  she  had  to  go  back  through  the  wet  to 
fetch  it.  At  that  moment  another  gust  drove  the  rain 
violently  over  her,  forcing  it  through  her  boots.  The  sky 
was  a  tint  of  ashen  grey,  and  all  the  low  brick  buildings 
were  veiled  in  vapour  ;  the  rough  roadway  m  as  full  of 
pools,  and  notliing  was  heard  but  the  melancholy  bell  of 
the  tramcar.  She  hesitated,  not  wishing  to  spend  a  jDeimy 
mmecessarily,  but  remembering  that  a  penny  wise  is  often 
a  pound  foolish  she  called  to  the  driver  and  climbed  in. 
The  car  passed  by  the  little  brick  street  where  the 
Saunders  lived,  and  wlien  Esther  pushed  the  door  open 


ESTHER  WATERS  P9 

she  could  see  into  the  kitchen  and  overhear  the  voices  of 
the  children.  Mrs.  Saunders  was  sweeping  down  the 
stairs,  but  at  the  sound  of  footsteps  she  ceased  to  bang 
the  broom,  and,  stooping  till  her  head  looked  over  the 
banisters,  she  cried  : 

"  Who  is  it  ?" 

"  Me,  mother." 

"  What !     You,  Esther  ?" 

"  Yes,  mother." 

Mrs.  Saunders  hastened  down,  and,  leaning  the  brooru 
against  the  wall,  she  took  her  daughter  in  her  arms  and 
kissed  her.  "  Well,  this  is  nice  to  see  you  again,  after 
this  long  while.  But  you  are  looking  a  bit  poorly,  Esther." 
Then  her  face  changed  expression.  "  What  has  happened  ? 
Have  you  lost  your  situation  ?" 

*' Yes,  mother." 

"  Oh,  I  am  that  sorry,  for  we  thought  you  was  so  'appy 
there  and  liked  your  mistress  above  all  those  you  'ad  ever 
met  with.  Did  you  lose  your  temper  and  answer  her 
back  ?  They  is  often  trying,  I  know  that,  and  your  own 
temper — you  was  never  very  sure  of  it." 

"  I've  no  fault  to  find  with  my  mistress ;  she  is  the 
kindest  in  the  world — none  better, — and  my  temper — it 
wasn't  that,  mother " 

"  My  own  darling,  tell  me " 

Esther  paused.  The  children  had  ceased  talking  in  the 
kitchen,  and  the  IVont  door  was  open.  "Come  into  the 
parlour.  We  can  talk  quietly  there.  When  do  you  expect 
father  home?" 

"  Not  for  the  best  part  of  a  couple  of  hours  yet." 

Mrs,  Saunders  waited  until  Esther  had  closed  the  4ront 
door.  Then  they  went  into  the  parlour  and  sat  down  side 
by  side  on  the  little  horsehair  sofa  placed  against  the  wall 
facing  the  window.  The  anxiety  in  their  hearts  betraj^ed 
itself  on  their  faces. 


100  ESTHER  WATERS 

"  I  had  to  leave,  mother.     I'm  seven  months  gone." 

"Oh,  Esther,  Esther,  I  can't  beUeve  it!" 

''Yes,  mother,  it  is  quite  true." 

She  hurried  through  her  story,  and  when  her  mother 
questioned  her  regarding  details,  she  said  : 

*^' Mother,  what  does  it  matter?  I  don't  care  to  talk 
about  it  more  than  I  can  help." 

Tears  had  begun  to  roll  down  Mrs.  Saunders'  cheeks, 
and  when  she  wiped  them  away  with  the  corner  of  her 
apron,  Esther  heard  a  sob. 

"Don't  cry,  mother,"  said  Esther.  "I  have  been  very 
wicked,  1  know,  but  God  will  be  good  to  me.  I  always 
pray  to  Him,  just  as  you  taught  me  to  do,  and  I  daresay  I 
shall  get  through  my  trouble  somehow." 

"  Your  father  will  never  let  you  stop  'ere  ;  'ell  say,  just 
as  afore,  that  there  be  too  many  mouths  to  feed  as  it  is." 

"I  don't  want  him  to  keep  me  for  nothing — I  know- 
well  enough  if  I  did  that  'e'd  put  me  outside  quick  enough. 
But  I  can  pay  my  way.  I  earned  good  money  while  I  was 
with  the  Bar  fields,  and  though  she  did  tell  me  I  must  go, 
Mrs.  Barfield — the  Saint  they  call  her,  and  she  is  a  saint 
if  ever  there  was  one — gave  me  four  pounds  to  see  me,  as 
she  said,  through  my  trouble.  I've  better  than  eleven 
pound.  Don't  cry,  mother  dear  ;  crying  won't  do  no  good, 
and  I  want  you  to  help  me.  So  long  as  the  money  holds 
out  I  can  get  a  lodging  anywhere,  but  I'd  like  to  be  near 
!  you  ;  and  father  might  be  glad  to  let  me  have  the  parlour 
1  and  my  food  for  ten  or  eleven  shillings  a  week — I  could 
afford  as  much  as  that,  and  he  never  was  the  man  to  turn 
good  money  from  his  door.     Do  yer  thmk  he  will  .^" 

"  I  dunno,  dearie  ;  'tis  hard  to  say  what  'e'll  do ;  he's  a 
ard  man  to  live  with.  I've  'ad  a  terrible  time  of  it  lately^ 
^  and  them  babies  alius  coming.  Ah,  we  poor  women  have 
'^  more  than  our  right  to  bear  with  !" 

''Poor  mother:'  said  Esther,  and,  taking  her  mother's 


ESTHER  WATERS  10 ( 

hand  in  hers,  she  passed  her  arm  round  her,  drew  her 
closer,  and  kissed  her.  "  I  know  what  he  M-as  ;  is  he  any 
worse  now  ?" 

"  Well,  I  think  he  drinks  more,  and  is  even  rougher. 
It  was  only  the  other  day,  just  as  I  was  attending  to  his 
dinner — it  was  a  nice  piece  of  steak,  and  it  looked  so  nice 
that  I  cut  off  a  weeny  piece  to  taste.  He  sees  me  do  it, 
and  he  cries  out,  '  Now  then,  guts,  what  are  you  interfering 
with  my  dinner  for  ?'  I  says,  '  I  only  cut  off  a  tiny  piece 
to  taste.'  '  Well,  then,  taste  that/  he  says,  and  strikes  me 
clean  between  the  eyes.  Ah,  yes,  lucky  for  you  to  be  in 
service ;  you've  half  forgot  by  now  what  we've  to  put  up 
with  'ere." 

'-  You  was  always  that  soft  with  him,  mother ;  he  never 
touched  me  since  I  dashed  the  hot  water  in  his  face." 

''  Sometimes  I  thinks  I  can  bear  it  no  longer,  Esther, 
and  long  to  go  and  drown  meself.  Jenny  and  Julia — you 
remember  little  Julia ;  she  'as  grown  up  such  a  big  girl, 
and  is  getting  on  so  well — they  are  both  at  work  now  in 
the  kitchen.  Johnnie  gives  us  a  deal  of  trouble  ;  he  can't 
tell  a  word  of  truth ;  father  took  off  his  strap  the  other 
day  and  beat  him  dreadful,  but  it  ain't  no  use.  If  it 
wasn't  for  Jenny  and  Julia  I  don't  think  we  should  ever 
make  both  ends  meet ;  but  they  works  all  day  at  the  dogs, 
and  at  the  warehouse  their  dogs  is  said  to  be  neater  and 
more  lifelike  than  any  other.  Their  poor  fingers  is  worn 
away  cramming  the  paper  into  the  moulds  ;  but  they  never 
complains,  no  more  shouldn't  I  if  he  was  a  bit  gentler  and 
didn't  take  more  than  half  of  what  he  earns  to  the  public- 
'ouse.  I  was  glad  you  was  away,  Esther,  for  you  alius  was 
of  an  'asty  temper  and  couldn't  'ave  borne  it.  I  don't 
want  to  make  my  troubles  seem  worse  than  they  be,  but 
sometimes  I  think  I  will  break  up,  'special  when  I  get  to 
thinking  what  will  become  of  us  and  all  them  children 
money  growing  less  and  expenses  increasing.     I  haven't 


]tV>  ESTHER  WATERS 

told  yer,  but  I  daresay  you  have  noticed  that  another  one 
is  coming.  It  is  the  children  that  breaks  us  poor  women 
down  altogether.  Ah,  well,  yours  be  the  hardest  trouble, 
but  you  must  put  a  brave  face  on  it ;  we'll  do  the  best  we 
can  ;  none  of  us  can  say  no  more." 

Mrs.  Saunders  wiped  her  eyes  with  the  corner  of  her 
apron  ;  and  without  further  words  mother  and  daughter 
went  into  the  kitchen — a  long,  low  room,  with  one  window 
looking  on  a  small  back-yard,  at  the  back  of  which  was  the 
coal-hole,  the  dust-bin,  and  a  small  outhouse.  And  at  the 
lono'  kitchen  table,  seated  on  a  bench  fastened  to  the  wall, 
Jenny  and  Julia  were  at  work  making  toy  dogs,  some  no 
larger  than  your  hand,  others  almost  as  big  as  a  small 
poodle,  finishing  the  last  few  that  remained  of  the  order 
they  had  received  from  their  shop.  They  were  helped  by 
three  small  children  seated  on  the  floor,  who  handed  them 
the  brown  paper  which  was  speedily  pressed  into  iron 
moulds,  pasted  down  and  tucked  in  with  strong  dexterous 
fingers. 

"  Why,  it  is  Esther  !"  said  Jenny,  the  elder  girl.  ''  And, 
lorks,  ain't  she  grand  ! — quite  the  lady.  Why,  we  hardly 
knowed  ye."  And  having  kissed  their  sister  circumspectly, 
they  stood  lost  in  contemplation  till  Esther  took  Harry,  a 
fine  little  boy  of  four,  up  in  her  arms,  and  asked  him  if  he 
remembered  her. 

^^Naw,  I  don't  think  I  do.     Will  oo  put  me  down  ?" 

"  But  you  do,  Lizzie  ?"  she  said,  addressing  a  girl  of 
seven,  whose  bright  red  hair  shone  like  a  lamp  in  the 
gathering  twilight. 

"  Yes,  you're  my  big  sister  ;  youVe  been  away  this  year 
or  more  in  service." 

''  And  you,  Maggie,  do  you  remember  me  too  ?" 

Maggie  at  first  seemed  doubtful,  but  after  a  moment's 
reflection  she  nodded  her  head  vigorously. 

"Come,    Esther,    see    how    Julia   is    getting   on,"    said 


ESTHER  WATERS  103 

Mrs.  Saunders;  "she  makes  her  dogs  nearly  as  fast  as 
Jenny.  She  is  still  a  bit  careless  in  drawing  the  paper 
into  the  moulds.  Well^  just  as  I  was  speaking  of  it  :  'era's 
a  dog  with  one  shoulder  just  'arf  the  size  of  the  other." 

"Oh,   mother,    I'm    sure    nobody'd    never    know    the 
difference." 

"  Wouldn't  know  the  difference !  Just  look  at  the 
hanimal !  Is  it  natural.''  Sich  carelessness  I  never  seed." 
"Esther,  just  look  at  Julia's  dog,"  cried  Jenny,  "*e 
'asn't  got  no  more  than  'arf  a  shoulder.  It's  lucky  mother 
saw  it,  for  if  the  manager'd  seen  it  he'd  have  found  some- 
thing wrong  with  I  don't  know  'ow  many  more,  and 
docked  us  maybe  a  shilling  or  more  on  the  week's  work." 
Julia  began  to  cry. 

"Jenny  is  always  down   on  me.      She  is  jealous  just 
because  mother  said  I  worked  as  fast  as  she  did.     If  her 

work  was  overhauled " 

"  There  are  all  my  dogs  there  on  the  right-hand  side  of 
the  dresser — I  always  'as  the  right  for  my  dogs — and  if  you 

find  one  there  with  an  uneven  shoulder  I'll " 

"  Jenny  is  so  fat  that  she  likes  everything  like  'erself ; 
that's  why  she  stuffs  so  much  paper  into  her  dogs." 

It  was  little  Ethel  speaking  from  her  corner,  and  her 
explanation  of  the  excellence  of  Jenny's  dogs,  given  with 
stolid  childish  gravity  in  the  interval  of  tearing  a  large 
sheet  of  brown  paper,  made  them  laugh.  But  in  the 
midst  of  the  laughter  thought  of  her  great  trouble  came 
upon  Esther.  Mrs.  Saunders  noticed  this,  and  to  make 
an  end  of  the  merriment,  she  took  Julia's  dog  and  told 
her  that  it  must  be  put  into  the  mould  again.  She  cut 
the  skin  away,  and  helped  to  force  the  stiff  paper  over  the 
edge  of  the  mould. 

"Now,"  she  said,  "it  is  a  dog;  both  shoulders  is  equal, 
and  if  it  was  a  real  dog  he  could  walk." 

"  Oh,  bother !"  cried  Jenny,  "  I  shan't  be  able  to  finish 


104  ESTHER  WATERS 

my  last  dozen  this  evening.  I  'ave  no  more  buttons  for 
the  eyes^  and  the  black  pins  that  Julia  is  a-using  of  for 
her  little  one  won't  do  for  this  size." 

"  Won't  they  give  yer  any  at  the  shop  ?  I  was  counting 
on  the  money  they  would  bring  to  finish  the  week  with." 
"  No,  we  can't  get  no  buttons  in  the  shop :  that's  'ome 
work,  they  says ;  and  even  if  they  'ad  them  they  wouldn't 
let  us  put  them  in  there.  That's  'ome  work,  they  says  to 
everything  ;  they  is  a  that  disagreeable  lot." 

'^But  'aven't  you  got  sixpence,  mother.?  and  I'll  run 
and  get  them." 

"No,  I've  run  short." 

"But,"  said  Esther,  "I'll  give  you  sixpence  to  get  your 
buttons  with." 

"  Yes,  that's  it ;  give  us  sixpence,  and  yer  shall  have  it 
back  to-morrow  if  you  are  'ere.  How  long  are  yer  up  for  ? 
If  not,  we'll  send  it." 

"  I'm  not  going  back  just  yet. 
"  What,  'ave  yer  lost  yer  situation  ?" 
"  No,  no,"  said    Mrs.  Saunders,  "  Esther   ain't  well — 
she  'as  come  up  for  'er  'ealth ;  take  the  sixpence  and  run 
along." 

"  May  I  go  too  ?"  said  Julia.  "  I've  been  at  work  since 
eight,  and  I've  only  a  few  more  dogs  to  do." 

"  Yes,  you  may  go  with  your  sister.     Run  along  ;  don't 

bother  me  any  more,  I've  got  to  get  your  father's  supj>er." 

When    Jenny   and   Julia    had    left,    Esther    and    Mrs. 

Saunders  could  talk  freely,  the  other  children  being  too 

young  to  understand. 

"There  is  times  when  'e  is  well  enough,"  said  Mrs. 
Saunders,  "and  others  when  'e  is  that  awful.  It  is  'ard 
to  know  'ow  to  get  him,  but  'e  is  to  be  got  if  we  only 
knew  'ow.  Sometimes  'tis  most  surprising  how  easy  'e 
do  take  things,  and  at  others — well,  as  about  that  piece  of 
steak  that  I  was  a- telling  you  of.     Should  you  catch  him 


ESTHER  WATERS  105 

in  that  humour  'e's  as  like  as  not  to  take  ye  by  the 
shoulder  and  put  you  out ;  but  if  he  be  in  a  good  humour 
'e's  as  like  as  not  to  say,  '  Well,  my  gal,  make  yerself  at 
'ome.' " 

'^He  can  but  turn  me  out.  I'll  leave  yer  to  speak  to 
'im,  mother." 

"I'll  do  my  best,  but  I  don't  answer  for  nothing.  A 
nice  bit  of  supper  do  make  a  difference  in  'im,  and  as  ill 
luck  will  'ave  it,  I've  nothing  but  a  rasher,  whereas  if  I 
only  'ad  a  bit  of  steak  'e'd  brighten  up  the  moment  he 
clapt  eyes  on  it  and  become  that  cheerful." 

"  But,  mother,  if  you  think  it  will  make  a  difference  I 
can  easily  slip  round  to  the  butcher's  and " 

"  Yes ;  get  half  a  pound,  and  when  it's  nicely  cooked 
and  inside  him  it'll  make  all  the  difference.  That  will 
please  him.  But  I  don't  like  to  see  you  spending  your 
money — money  that  you'll  want  badly." 

"  It  can't  be  helped,  mother.  I  shan't  be  above  a 
minute  or  two  away,  and  Til  bring  back  a  pint  of  porter 
with  the  steak." 

Coming  back  she  met  Jenny  and  Julia,  and  when  she 
told  them  her  purchases  they  remarked  significantly  that 
they  were  now  quite  sure  of  a  pleasant  evening. 

"  When  he's  done  eating  'e'll  go  out  to  smoke  his  pipe 
with  some  of  his  chaps,"  said  Jenny,  "and  we  shall  have 
the  'ouse  to  ourselves,  and  yer  can  tell  us  all  about  your 
situation.  They  keeps  a  butler  and  a  footman,  don't  they? 
They  must  be  grand  folk.  And  what  was  the  footman 
like .''     Was  he  very  handsome  }     I've  'eard  that  they  all  is." 

"  And  you'll  show  us  yer  dresses,  won't  you  ?"  said  Julia. 
"  How  many  'ave  you  got,  and  'ow  did  yer  manage  to  save 
up  enough  money  to  buy  such  beauties,  if  they're  all  like 
that  ?" 

"  This  dress  was  given  to  me  by  Miss  Mary." 

"  Was  it  ?     She  must  be  a  real  good  'un.     I  should  like 


106  ESTHER  WATERS 

^^  to  go  to  service ;  I'm  tired  of  making  dogs ;  we  have  to 
y  work  that  'ard^  and  it  nearly  all  goes  to  the  public  ;  father 
i  •     drinks  worse  than  ever." 

Mrs.  Saunders  approved  of  Esther's  })urchase  ;  it  was  a 

beautiful  bit  of  steak^  and  a  few  minutes  after  the  meat 

was  roasting  on  the  gridiron.      The  clock  continued  its 

g      coarse   ticking    on    the    dresser,  amid  the   rough    plates. 

jl   ^  Jenny  and  Julia  hastened  with  their  work,  pressing  the 

\M   j  paper  with  nervous  fingers  into  the  moulds,  calling  sharply 

\]       to  the  little  group  for  what  sized    paper   they  required. 

^         Esther  and  Mrs.  Saunders  waited,  full  of  apprehension,  for 

jrOpfthe  sound  of  a  heavy  tread  in  the  passage.     At  last  it 

M^   came.     Mrs.  Saunders  turned  the  meat,  hoping  that  its 

savoury  odour  would  greet  his  nostrils  from  afar,  and  that 

he  would  come  to  them  mollified  and  amiable. 

"  Hullo,  Jim ;  yer  are  'ome  a  bit  earlier  to-day.  I'm 
not  quite  ready  with  yer  supper." 

"  I  dunno  that  I  am.  Hullo,  Esther  !  Up  for  the  day  ? 
Smells  damned  nice,  what  you're  cooking  for  me,  missus. 
What  is  it?" 

"  Bit  of  steak,  Jim.  It  seems  a  beautiful  piece.  Hope 
it  will  eat  tender." 

"  That  it  will.  I  was  afeard  you  would  have  nothing 
more  than  a  rasher,  and  I'm  that  'ungry." 

Jim  Saunders,  a  stout,  dark  man  about  forty,  who  had 
not  shaved  for  some  days,  wore  a  ragged  comforter  around 
his  short,  bull  neck.  He  threw  his  basket  into  a  corner, 
and  then  himself  on  to  the  rough  bench  nailed  against  the 
wall,  and  there,  without  speaking  another  word,  he  lay  sniff- 
ing the  odour  of  the  meat  like  an  animal  going  to  be  fed. 
Suddenly  a  whiff  from  the  beer  jug  came  into  his  nostrils, 
and  reaching  out  his  rough  hand  he  looked  into  the  jug  to 
assure  himself  he  was  not  mistaken. 

^'  What's  this  ?"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  a  pint  of  porter  !  Yer 
are  doing  me  pretty  well  this  evening,  I  reckon,  What's  up  ?" 


ESTHER  WATERS  107 

'f  Nothing,  Jim;  nothing,  dear,  but  just  as  Esther  has 
come  up  we  thought  we'd  try  to  make  yer  comfortable. 
It  was  Esther  who  fetched  it ;  she  'as  been  doing  pretty 
well,  and  can  afford  it." 

Jim  looked  at  Esther  in  a  sort  of  vague  and  brutal 
astonishment,  and  feeling  he  must  say  something,  and  not 
knowing  well  what,  he  said  : 

''  Well,  'ere's  to  your  good  health !"  and  he  took  a  long 
pull  at  the  jug.  "  Where  did  you  get  this  ?" 
"  In  Durham  street,  at  the  ^  Angel.'" 
"  I  thought  as  much ;  they  don't  sell  stuff  like  this  at 
the  '  Rose  and  Crown.'  Well,  much  obliged  to  yer.  I 
shall  enjoy  my  bit  of  steak  now  ;  and  I  see  a  tater  in  the 
cinders.  How  are  you  getting  on,  old  woman — is  it  nearly 
done  ?  Yer  know  I  don't  like  all  the  goodness  burnt  out 
of  it." 

"  It  isn't  quite  done  yet,  Jim  ;  a  few  minutes  more " 

Jim  snifled  in  eager  anticipation,  and  then  addressed 
himself  to  Esther. 

"  Well,  they  seem  to  do  yer  pretty  well  down  there, 
.^y  word,  what  a  toff  yer  are  !  Quite  a  lady.  There's 
nothing  like  service  for  a  girl ;  I've  always  said  so.  Eh, 
Jenny,  wouldn't  yer  like  to  go  into  service,  like  yer  sister  ? 
Looks  better,  don't  it,  than  making  toy  dogs  at  three-and- 
sixpence  the  gross  ?" 

"  I  should  just  think  it  was.  I  wish  I  could.  As  soon 
as  Maggie  can  take  my  place,  I  mean  to  try." 

"  It  was  the  young  lady  of  the  'ouse  that  gave  'er  that 
nice  dress,"  said  Julia.  "  My  eye  !  she  must  have  been  a 
favourite," 

At  that  moment  Mrs.  Saunders  picked  the  steak  from  the 
gridiron,  and  putting  it  on  a  nice  hot  plate  she  carried  it 
in  her  apron  to  Jim,  saying,  "  Mind  yer  'ands,  it  is 
burning  'ot." 

Jim  fed  in  hungry  silence,  the  children  watching,  regret- 


108  ESTHER  WATERS 

ting  tliat  none  of  them  ever  had  suppers  like  that.  He 
didn't  speak  until  he  had  put  away  the  better  part  of  the 
steak  ;  then^  after  taking  a  long  pull  at  the  jug  of  porter, 
he  said  : 

"  I  'aven't  enjoyed  a  bit  of  food  like  that  this  many  a  day; 
I  was  that  beat  when  I  came  in,  and  it  does  do  one  good  to 
put  a  piece  of  honest  meat  into  one's  stomach  after  a  'ard 
day's  work  !" 

Then^  prompted  by  a  sudden  thought^  he  complimented 
Esther  on  her  looks^  and  then^  with  increasing  interest, 
inquired  what  kind  of  people  she  was  staying  with.  But 
Esther  was  in  no  humour  for  conversation,  aiid  answered 
his  questions  briefly  without  entering  into  details.  Her 
reserve  only  increased  his  curiosity,  which  fired  up  at  the 
first  mention  of  the  racehorses. 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  them.  I  only  used  to  see 
them  passing  through  the  yard  as  they  went  to  exercise  on 
the  downs.  There  was  always  a  lot  of  talk  about  them  in 
the  servants'  hall,  but  I  didn't  notice  it.  They  were  a 
great  trouble  to  Mrs.  Barfield — I  told  you,  mother,  that 
she  was  one  of  ourselves,  didn't  I  ?" 

A  look  of  contempt  passed  over  Jim's  face,  and  he  said  : 

"  We've  quite  enough  talk  'ere  about  the  Brethren  ;  give 
them  a  rest.  What  about  the  'orses  ?  Did  they  m  in  any 
races  ?     Yer  can't  'ave  missed  'earing  that." 

"  Yes,  Silver  Braid  won  the  Stewards'  Cup." 

"  Silver  Braid  Avas  one  of  your  horses  ?" 

"  Yes ;  Mr.  Barfield  won  thousands  and  thousands, 
everyone  in  Shoreham  won  something,  and  a  ball  for  the 
servants  Avas  given  in  the  Gardens." 

"  And  )^ou  never  thought  of  writing  to  me  about  it  !  I 
could  have  'ad  thirty  to  one  off  Bill  Short.  One  pound  ten 
to  a  bob  I  And  yer  never  thought  it  worth  while  to  send 
me  the  tip.  I'm  blowed  I  Girls  aren't  worth  a  damn. 
Thirty  to  one  off  Bill  Sliort— he'd  have  laid  it.    I  remember 


ESTHER  WATERS  109 

seeing  the  price  quoted  in  all  the  papers.  Thirty  to  one 
taken  and  hoffered.  If  you  had  told  me  all  yer  knowed  I 
might  'ave  gone  'alf  a  quid — fifteen  pun  to  'alf  a  quid !  as 
much  as  I'd  earn  in  three  months  slaving  eight  and  ten 
hours  a  day,  paint-pot  on  'and  about  them  blooming  engines. 
Well,  there's  no  use  crying  over  what's  done — sich  a 
chance  won't  come  again,  but  something  else  may.  What 
are  they  going  to  do  with  the  'orse  this  autumn — did  yer 
'ear  that  ?" 

"  I  think  I  'eard  that  he  was  entered  for  the  Cambridge- 
shire, but  if  I  remember  rightly,  Mr.  Leopold — that's  the 
butler,  not  his  real  name,  but  what  we  call  him " 

"  Ah,  yes  ;  I  know ;  after  the  Baron.  Now  what  do  'e 
say.?  1  reckon  'e  knows.  I  should  like  to  'ave  'alf-an- 
liour's  talk  with  your  Mr.  Leopold.  What  do  'e  say .?  For 
what  'e  says,  unless  I'm  pretty  well  mistaken,  is  worth 
listening  to.  A  man  wouldn't  be  a-wasting  'is  time  in 
listening  to  'im.     What  do  'e  say?" 

"Mr.  Leopold  never  says  much.  He's  the  only  one 
that's  the  Gaffer's  confidential.  'Tis  said  they  are  as  thick 
as  thieves — so  they  say.  Mr.  Leopold  was  the  Gaffer's 
valet  when  he  was  a  bachelor." 

Jim  chuckled.  ^'  Yes,  I  think  I  know  what  kind  of  man 
your  Mr.  Leopold  is  like.  But  what  did  'e  say  about  tlie 
Cambridgeshire  ?" 

"He  only  laughed  a  little  once,  and  said  he  didn't 
think  the  'orse  would  do  much  good  in  the  autumn  races — 
no,  not  races,  that  isn't  the  word." 

"  Handicaps  V 

"  Yes,  that's  it.  But  there's  no  relying  on  what  Mr. 
Leopold  says — he  never  says  what  he  really  means.  But  1 
'card  William,  that's  the  footman " 

"  What  are  you  stopping  for  ?  What  did  yer  "ear  'im 
say?" 

"That  he  intends  to  have  something  on  next  spring." 


110  ESTHER  WATERS 

"  Did  he  say  any  race  ?  Did  he  say  the  City  and  Sub.  ?" 
''  Yes,  that  was  the  race  he  mentioned." 
"  I  thought  that  would  be  about  the  length  and  the 
breadth  of  it/'  Jim  said,  as  he  took  up  his  knife  and  fork. 
There  was  only  a  small  portion  of  the  beefsteak  left,  and 
this  he  ate  gluttonously,  and,  finishing  w^hat  remained  of 
the  porter,  he  leaned  back,  and  in  the  happiness  of  repletion 
crammed  tobacco  into  a  dirty  clay,  with  a  dirtier  finger- 
nail, and  said  : 

"  I'd  be  uncommon  glad  to  'ear  how  he  is  getting  on. 
When  are  you  going  back  ?     Up  for  the  day  only  ?" 

Esther  did  not  answer,  and  Jim  looked  inquiringly  as 
he  reached  across  the  table  for  the  matclies.  The  decisive 
moment  had  arrived,  and  Mrs.  Saunders  said  : 

"Esther  ain't  a-going  back;  leastways " 

*'  Not  going  back  !  You  don't  mean  that  she  ain't  con- 
tented in  her  situation — that  she  'as " 

"Esther   ain't   going   back   no   more,"    Mrs.    Saunders 

answered,  incautiously.     "  Look  ee  'ere,  Jim " 

''  Out  with  it,  old  woman — no  'umbug  !  What  is  it  all 
about  ?  Ain't  going  back  to  'er  sitooation,  and  where  she 
'as  been  treated  like  that — ^^just  look  at  the  duds  she  'as 
got  on." 

The  evening  was  darkening  rapidly,  and  the  firelight 
flickered  over  the  back  of  the  toy  dogs  piled  up  on  the 
dresser.  Jim  had  lit  his  })ipe,  and  the  acrid  and  warm 
odour  of  quickly-burning  tobacco  overpowered  the  smell  of 
grease  and  the  burnt  skin  of  the  baked  potato,  a  fragment 
of  which  remained  on  tlie  plate  ;  only  the  sickly  flavour  of 
drying  paste  wa^  distinguishable  in  the  reek  of  the  short 
black  clay  which  the  man  held  firmly  between  his  teeth. 
Esther  sat  by  the  fire,  her  hands  crossed  over  her  knees,  no 
signs  of  emotion  on  her  sullen,  plump  face.  Mrs.  Saunders 
stood  on  the  other  side  of  Esther,  between  her  and  the 
younger  children,  now  quarrelling  among  themselves,  and 


ESTHER  WATERS  HI 

her  face  was  full  of  fear  as  she  watched  her  husband 
anxiously. 

"  Now,  then,  old  woman,  blurt  it  out !"  he  said.  "  What  is 
it }  Can  it  be  the  girl  'as  lost  her  sitooation— got  the  sack  ? 
Yes,  I  see  that's  about  the  cut  of  it.  Her  beastly  temper  ! 
So  they  couldn't  put  up  with  it  in  the  country  any  more 
than  I  could  mesel'.  Well,  it's  'er  own  look-out !  If  she 
can  afford  to  chuck  up  a  place  like  that,  so  much  the  better 
for  'er.  Pity,  though  ;  she  might  'ave  put  me  up  to  many 
a  good  thing." 

"  It  ain't  that,  Jim.     The  girl  is  in  trouble." 

"  Wot  do  yer  say  ?  Esther  in  trouble  ?  Well,  that's  the 
best  bit  I've  heard  this  long  while.  I  always  told  ye  that 
the  religious  ones  were  just  the  same  as  the  others — a  bit 
more  hypocritical,  that's  all.  So  she  that  wouldn't  'ave 
nothing  to  do  with  such  as  was  Mrs.  Dunbar  'as  got  'erself 
into  trouble  !  Well,  I  never  !  But  'tis  just  what  I  always 
suspected.  The  goody-goody  sort  are  the  worst.  So  she 
'as  got  'erself  into  trouble  !  Well,  she'll  'ave  to  get  'erself 
out  of  it." 

"Now,  Jim,  dear,  yer  mustn't  be  'ard  on  'er;  she  could 
tell  a  very  different  story  if  she  wished  it,  but  yer  know 
what  she  is.  There  she  sits  like  a  block  of  marble,  and 
won't  as  much  as  say  a  word  in  'er  own  defence." 

"  But  I  don't  want  'er  to  speak.  I  don't  care,  it's  nothing 
to  me  ;  I  only  laughed  because " 

"Jim,  dear,  it  is  somethhig  to  all  of  us.  What  we 
thought  was  that  you  might  let  her  stop  'ere  till  her  time 
was  come  to  go  to  the  orspital." 

"  Ah,  that's  it,  is  it }  That  was  the  meaning  of  the  'alf- 
pound  of  steak  and  the  pint  of  porter,  was  it }  I  thought 
there  was  something  hup.  So  she  wants  to  stop  'ere,  do 
she  ?  As  if  there  wasn't  enough  already  !  Well,  1  be 
bio  wed  if  she  do  !  A  nice  thing,  too  ;  a  girl  can't  go  away 
to  service  without  coming  back  to  her  respectable  'ome  in 


112  ESTHER  WATERS 

trouble — in  trouble,  she  calls  it.  Now,  I  won't  'ave  it; 
there's  enough  'ere  as  it  is,  and  another  coming,  worse 
luck.  We  wants  no  bastards  'ere.  And  a  nice  example,  too, 
for  the  other  children  !     No,  I  wont  'ave  it !" 

Jenny  and  Julia  looked  curiously  at  Esther,  who  sat 
quite  still,  her  face  showing  no  sign  of  emotion.  Mrs. 
Saunders  turned  towards  her,  a  pitying  look  on  her  face, 
saying  clearly,  ''  You  see,  my  poor  girl,  how  matters  stand  ; 
I  can  do  nothing." 

The  girl,  although  she  did  not  raise  her  eyes,  understood 
what  was  passing  in  her  mother's  mind,  for  there  was  a 
grave  deliberativeness  in  the  manner  in  which  she  rose 
from  the  chair. 

But  just  as  the  daughter  had  guessed  what  was  passing 
in  the  mother's  mind,  so  did  the  mother  guess  what  was 
passing  in  the  daughter's.  Mrs.  Saunders  threw  herself 
before  Esther,  saying,  "  Oh,  no,  Esther,  wait  a  moment ;  'e 
won't  be  so  'ard  on  'ee."  Then  turning  to  her  husband, 
"  Yer  don't  understand,  Jim.  It  is  only  for  a  little 
time." 

"  No,  I  tell  yer.  No,  I  won't  'ave  it !  There  be  too 
many  'ere  as  it  is." 

"  Only  a  little  while,  Jim." 

"  No.  And  those  who  ain't  wanted  'ad  better  go  at 
once — that's  my  advice  to  them.  The  place  is  as  full  of 
us  that  we  can  'ardly  turn  round  as  it  is.  No,  1  won't 
'ear  of  it!" 

"  But,  Jim,  Esther  is  quite  willing  to  pay  her  way  ;  she's 
saved  a  good  little  sum  of  mone}^,  and  could  afford  to  pay 
us  ten  shillings  a  week  for  board  and  the  parlour." 

A  perplexed  look  came  on  Jim's  face. 

"  Why  didn't  yer  tell  me  that  afore  ?  Of  course  I  don't 
wish  to  be  'ard  on  the  girl,  as  yer  'ave  just  heard  me  say. 
Ten  shillings  a  week  for  her  board  and  the  parlour — that 
seem?;  fair  enough  ;  and  if  it's  any  convenience  to  'er  to 


ESTHER  WATERS  I'S 

remain,  I'm  sure  we'll  be  glad  to  'ave  'er.  I'll  say  right 
glad,  too.  We  was  always  good  friends,  Esther,  wasn't  we, 
though  ye  wasn't  one  of  my  own  ?'*  So  saying,  Jim  held 
out  his  hand. 

Esther  tried  to  pass  by  her  mother.  ^'  I  don't  want  to 
stop  where  I'm  not  wanted ;  I  wants  no  one's  charity.  Let 
me  go,  mother." 

''No,  no,  Esther.  'Aven't  yer  'card  what  'e  says?  Ye 
are  my  child  if  you  ain't  'is,  and  it  would  break  my  'eart, 
that  it  would,  to  see  you  go  away  among  strangers.  Yer 
place  is  among  yer  own  people,  who'll  look  after  you." 

"  Now,  then,  Esther,  why  should  there  be  ill  feeling  ? 
I  didn't  mean  any  'arm.  There's  a  lot  of  us  'ere,  and  IVe 
to  think  of  the  interests  of  my  own.  But  for  all  that 
I  should  be  main  sorry  to  see  yer  take  yer  money  among 
strangers,  where  you  wouldn't  get  no  value  for  it.  You'd 
better  stop.  I'm  sorry  for  what  I  said.  Ain't  that  enough 
for  yer?" 

"  Jim,  Jim,  dear,  don't  say  no  more ;  leave  'er  to  me. 
Esther,  for  my  sake  stop  with  us.  You  are  in  trouble,  and 
it  is  right  for  you  to  stop  with  me.  Jim  'as  said  no  more 
than  the  truth.  With  all  the  best  will  in  the  world  we 
couldn't  afford  to  keep  yer  for  nothing,  but  since  yer  can 
pay  yer  way,  it  is  yer  duty  to  stop.  Think,  Esther,  dear, 
think.  Go  and  shake  'ands  with  'im,  and  I'll  go  and  make 
yer  up  a  bed  on  the  sofa." 

"  There's  no  bloody  need  for  'er  to  shake  my  'and  if  she 
don't  like,"  Jim  replied,  and  he  pulled  doggedly  at  his  pipe. 
Esther  tried,  but  her  fierce  and  heavy  temper  held  her 
back.  She  couldn't  go  to  her  father  for  reconciliation,  and 
the  matter  might  have  ended  quite  differently,  but 
suddenly,  without  another  word,  Jim  put  on  his  hat  and 
went  out  to  join  "  his  chaps  "  who  were  waiting  for  him 
about  the  public-house,  close  to  the  cab-rank  in  the 
Vauxhall  Bridge  Road.    The  door  was  hardly  closed  behind 


114  ESTHER  WATERS 

him  when  the  young  children  laughed  and  ran  about 
joyously,  and  Jenny  and  Julia  went  over  to  Esther  and 
begged  her  to  stop. 

"  Of  course  she'll  stop/'  said  Mrs.  Saunders.  "And 
now,  Esther,  come  along  and  help  me  to  make  you  up 
a  bed  in  the  parlour." 


XIV. 

Mrs.  Saunders  stood  looking  at  her,  and  Esther  turned 
suddenly  on  the  sofa  and  said  : 

"What  time  is  it,  mother?" 

"  It's  gone  six  ;  but  don't  you  get  up.  You're  your  own 
mistress  whilst  you're  here  ;  you  pays  for  what  you  *as." 

"  I  can't  afford  them  lazy  habits.  There's  plenty  of 
work  here,  and  I  must  help  you  with  some  of  it." 

"  Plenty  of  work  here,  that's  right  enough.  But  why 
should  you  bother,  and  you  nearly  seven  months  gone  ? 
I  daresay  you  feels  that  'eavy  that  you  never  care  to  get 
out  of  your  chair.  But  they  says  that  them  who  works  up 
to  the  last  'as  the  easiest  time  in  the  end.  Not  that  I've 
found  it  so." 

The  conversation  paused.  Esther  threw  her  legs  over 
the  side  of  the  sofa,  and  still  wrapped  in  the  blanket,  sat 
looking  at  her  mother. 

"  You  can't  be  over-comfortable  on  that  bit  of  sofa,"  said 
Mrs.  Saunders. 

"  Lor,  I  can  manage  right  enough,  if  that  was  all." 

"  You  is  that  cast  down,  Esther ;  you  mustn't  give  way. 
Things  sometimes  turns  out  better  than  one  expects." 

"You  never  found  they  did,  mother." 

"  Perhaps  I  didn't,  but  that  says  nothing  for  others. 
We  must  bear  up  as  best  we  can." 

One  word  led  to  another,  and  very  soon  Esther  was 
telling  her  mother  the  whole  tale  of  her  misfortune — all 


ESTHER  WATERS  115 

about  WilliaiUj  the  sweepstakes^  the  ball  at  the  Shoreham 
Gardens^  the  walks  about  the  farm  and  hillside. 

"  Service  is  no  place  for  a  girl  who  wants  to  live  as  we   , 
used  to  live  when  father  was  alive — no  service  that  I've^ 

seen.     I  see  that  plain  enough.     Mistress  was  one  of  the ) 

Brethren  like  ourselves,  and  she  had  to  put  up  with  betting 
and  drinking  and  dancing,  and  never  thought  of  the  Lord. 
There  was  no  standing  out  against  it.  They  call  you 
Creeping  Jesus  if  you  say  your  prayers,  and  you  can't  say 
them  with  a  girl  laughing  or  singing  behind  your  back, 
so  you  think  you'll  say  them  to  yourself  in  bed,  but  sleep 
comes  sooner  than  you  expect,  and  so  you  slips  out  of  the 
habit.  Then  the  drinking.  We  was  brought  up  teetotal, 
but  they're  always  pressing  it  upon  you,  and  to  please  him 
I  said  I  would  drink  the  'orse's  'ealth.  That's  how  it  began, 
You  don't  know  what  it  is,  mother  ;  you  only  knew  God^ 
fearing  men  until  you  married  him.  We  aren't  all  good 
like  you,  mother.    But  I  thought  no  harm,  indeed  I  didn't. 

"  A  girl  can't  know  what  a  man  is  thinking  of,  and  we 
takes  the  worst  for  the  best." 

"  I  don't  say  that  I  was  altogether  blameless,  but 

"  You  didn't  know  he  was  that  bad." 

Esther  hesitated. 

"  I  knew  he  was  like  other  men.  But  he  told  me — he 
promised  me  he'd  marry  me." 

Mrs.  Saunders  did  not  answer,  and  Esther  said,  '*You 
don't  believe  I'm  speaking  the  truth." 

"  Yes,  I  do,  dearie.  I  was  only  thinking.  You're  my 
daughter  ;  no  mother  had  a  better  daughter.  There  never 
Avas  a  better  girl  in  this  world." 

"  I  was  telling  you,  mother " 

"  But  I  don't  want  no  telling  that  my  Esther  ain't  a  bad 
girl." 

Mrs.  Saunders  sat  nodding  her  head,  a  sweet,  uncritical 
mother ;  and  Esther  understood  how  unselfishly  her  mother 


11^  ESTHER  WATERS 

loved  her,  and  how  simply  she  thought  of  how  she  might 
help  her  in  her  trouble.  Neither  spoke,  and  Esther 
continued  dressing. 

"  You  'aven't  told  me  what  you  think  of  your  room.  It 
looks  pretty,  don't  you  think  ?  I  keeps  it  as  nice  as  I  can. 
Jenny  hung  up  them  pictures.  The}'^  livens  it  up  a  bit," 
she  said,  pointing  to  the  coloured  supplements,  from  the 
illustrated  papers,  on  the  wall.  "  The  china  shepherd  and 
shepherdess^  you  know  ;  they  was  at  Barnstaple." 

When  Esther  was  dressed,  she  and  Mrs.  Saunders  knelt 
down  and  said  a  prayer  together.  Then  Esther  said  she 
would  make  up  her  room,  and  when  that  was  done  she 
insisted  on  helping  her  mother  with  the  housework. 

In  the  afternoon  she  sat  with  her  sisters,  helping  them 
with  their  dogs,  folding  the  paper  into  the  moulds,  pasting 
it  down,  or  cutting  the  skins  into  the  requisite  sizes. 
About  five,  when  the  children  had  had  their  tea,  she  and 
her  mother  went  for  a  short  walk.  Very  often  they  strolled 
through  Victoria  Station,  amused  by  the  bustle  of  the 
traffic,  or  maybe  they  wandered  down  the  Buckingham 
Palace  Road,  attracted  by  the  shops.  And  there  was  a  sad 
pleasure  in  these  walks.  The  elder  woman  had  borne 
years  of  exceeding  trouble,  and  felt  her  strength  failing 
under  her  burdens,  which  instead  of  lightening  w^ere 
increasing ;  the  younger  woman  was  full  of  nervous  appre- 
hension for  the  future  and  grief  for  the  past.  But  they 
loved  each  other  deeply.  Esther  threw  herself  in  the  way 
to  protect  her  mother,  w^hether  at  a  dangerous  crossing  or 
from  the  heedlessness  of  the  crowd  at  a  corner,  and  often 
a  passer-by  turned  his  head  and  looked  after  them, 
attracted  by  the  solicitude  w^hich  the  younger  woman 
showed  for  the  elder.  And  in  those  walks  very  little  was 
said.  The  two  walked  in  silence,  slipping  noM^  and  then 
into  occasional  speech,  and  here  and  there  a  casual  allusion 
or  a  broken  sentence  would  indicate  what  was  passing  in 
their  minds. 


ESTHER  WATERS  117 

One  day  some  flannel  and  shirts  in  a  window  caught 
Mrs.  Saunders'  eye,  and  she  said  : 

"  It  is  time,  Esther,  you  thought  about  your  baby  clothes. 
One  must  be  prepared ;  one  never  knows  if  one  will  go 
one's  full  time." 

The  words  came  upon  Esther  with  something  of  a 
shock,  helping  her  to  realize  the  imminence  of  her  trouble. 

"You  must  have  something  by  you,  dear;  one  never 
knows  how  it  is  going  to  turn  out ;  even  I  who  have  been 
through  it  do  feel  that  nervous.  I  looks  round  the  kitchen 
when  I'm  taken  with  the  pains,  and  I  says,  '  I  may  never 
see  this  room  again.' " 

The  words  were  said  in  an  undertone  to  Esther,  and  the 
shopwoman  turned  to  get  down  the  ready-made  things 
which  Mrs.  Saunders  had  asked  to  see. 

"  Here,"  said  the  shopwoman,  ^' is  the  gown,  longcloth, 
one-and-sixpence  ;  here  is  the  flannel,  one  and-sixpence ; 
and  here  is  the  little  shirt,  sixpence." 

"  You  must  have  these  to  go  on  with,  dear,  and  if  the 
baby  lives  you'll  want  another  set." 

"  Oh,  mother,  of  course  he'll  live  ;  why  shouldn't  he  ?" 

Even  the  shopwoman  smiled,  and  Mrs.  Saunders, 
addressing  the  shopw^oman,  said  : 

*^  Them  that  knows  nothing  about  it  is  alius  full  of  'ope." 

The  shopwoman  raised  her  eyes,  sighed,  and  inquired 
sympathetically  if  this  was  the  young  lady's  first  confine- 
ment. 

Mrs.  Saunders  nodded  and  sighed,  and  then  the  shop- 
w^oman  asked  Mrs.  Saunders  if  she  required  any  baby 
clothes.  Mrs.  Saunders  said  she  had  all  she  required. 
The  parcel  was  made  up,  and  they  were  preparing  to  leave, 
when  Esther  said  : 

"  I  may  as  well  buy  the  material  and  make  another  set — 
it  will  give  me  something  to  do  in  the  afternoons.  I  think 
I  should  like  to  make  them." 


118  ESTHER  WATERS 

"We  have  some  first-rate  longcloth  at  sixpence-half- 
penny a  yard." 

"  You  might  take  three  yards^  Esther ;  if  anything 
should  happen  to  yer  bairn  it  will  always  come  in  useful. 
And  you  had  better  take  three  yards  of  flannel.  How 
much  is  yer  flannel.^" 

•^We  have  some  excellent  flannel/'  said  the  woman^ 
lifting  down  a  long^  heavy  package  in  dull  yellow  paper ; 
"'  this  is  tenpence  a  yard.  You'll  want  a  finer  longcloth 
for  the  little  shirts." 
/  /  And  every  afternoon  Esther  sat  in  the  parlour  by  the 
•n  window,  seeing^  when  she  raised  her  eyes  from  the  sewing. 
'  the  low  brick  street  full  of  children^  and  hearing  the 
working  women  calling  from  the  open  doors  or  windows ; 
and  as  she  worked  at  the  baby  clothes^,  never  perhaps  to 
be  worn,  her  heart  sank  at  the  long  prospect  that  awaited 
her,  the  end  of  which  she  could  not  see,  for  it  seemed  to 
reach  to  the  very  end  of  her  life.  In  these  hours  she  realised 
in  some  measure  the  duties  that  life  held  in  store,  and  it 
^  seemed  to  her  that  they  exceeded  her  strength.  Never 
^  would  she  be  able  to  bring  him  up — he  w^ould  have  no  one 
to  look  to  but  her.  She  never  imagined  other  than  that 
her  child  would  be  a  boy.  The  task  was  clearly  more 
than  she  could  perform,  and  in  despair  she  thought  it 
would  be  better  for  it  to  die.  What  would  happen  if  she 
remained  out  of  a  situation  ?  Her  father  would  not  have 
her  at  home,  that  she  knew  well  enough.  What  should 
she  do,  and  the  life  of  another  depending  on  her  ?  She 
would  never  see  William  again — that  was  certain.  He 
had  married  a  lady,  and,  w^ere  they  to  meet,  he  wouldn't 
look  at  her.  Her  temper  grew  hot,  and  the  memory  of 
the  injustice  of  which  she  had  been  a  victim  pressed  upon 
her.  But  when  vain  anger  passed  away  she  thought  of 
her  baby,  anticipating  the  joy  she  would  experience  when 
he  held  out  tiny  hands  to  her,  and  that,  too^  which  she 


ESTHER  WATERS  Hj) 

would  feel  when  he  laid  an  innocent  cheek  to  hers ;  and 
her  dream  persisting,  she  saw  him  learning  a  trade,  going 
to  work  in  the  morning  and  coming  back  to  her  in  the 
evening,  proud  in  the  accomplishment  of  something  done, 
of  good  money  honestly  earned. 

She  thought  a  great  deal,  too,  of  her  poor  mother,  who 
was  looking  strangely  weak  and  poorly,  and  whose  condi- 
tion was  rendered  worse  by  her  nervous  fears  that  she 
would  not  get  through  this  confinement.  For  the  doctor 
had  told  Mrs.  Saunders  that  the  next  time  it  might  go 
hard  with  her  ;  and  in  this  house,  her  husband  growing 
more  reckless  and  drunken,  it  was  altogether  a  bad  look- 
out, and  she  might  die  for  want  of  a  little  nourishment  or 
a  httle  care.  Unfortunately  they  would  both  be  down  at 
the  same  time,  and  it  was  almost  impossible  that  Esther 
should  be  well  in  time  to  look  after  her  mother.  That 
brute  !  It  was  wrong  to  think  of  her  father  so,  but  he 
seemed  to  be  without  mercy  for  any  of  them.  He  had 
come  in  yesterday  half-boozed,  having  kept  back  part  of 
his  money — he  had  come  in  tramping  and  hiccupping. 

"Now,  then,  old  girl,  cough  up!  I  must  have  a 
few  halfpence;  my  chaps  is  waiting  for  me,  and  I 
can't  be  looking  down  their  mouths  with  nothing  in  my 
pockets." 

"  I  only  have  a  few  halfpence  to  get  the  children  a  bit 
of  dinner  ;  if  I  give  them  to  you  they'll  have  nothing 
to  eat." 

"  Oh,  the  children  can  eat  anything  ;  I  want  beer.     If 

yer  'aven't  money,  make  it." 

Mrs.  Saunders  said  that  if  he  had  any  spare  clothes  she 

would  take  them  round  the  corner.     He  only  answered  : 
"  Well,  if  I  aven't  a  spare  waistcoat  left  just  take  some 

of  yer  own  things.     I  tell  yer  I  want  beer,  and  I  mean  to 

have  some." 

Then,  with   his  fist  raised,  he  came   at  his  jTOor  wife. 


H6  ESTHER  WATERS 

ordering  her  to  take  one  of  the  sheets  from  the  bed  and 
"  make  money/'  and  would  have  struck  her  if  Esther  had 
not  come  between  them  and,  with  her  hand  in  her  pocket, 
said,  "  Be  quiet,  father ;  1*11  give  you  the  money  you 
want." 

She  had  done  the  same  before,  and,  if  needs  be,  she 
would  do  so  again.  She  could  not  see  her  mother  struck, 
perhaps  killed  by  that  brute  ;  her  first  duty  was  to  save  her 
mother,  but  these  constant  demands  on  her  little  savings 
frightened  her.  She  would  want  every  penny  of  her 
savings  ;  the  ten  shillings  he  had  already  had  from  her 
might  be  the  very  sum  required  to  put  her  on  her  feet 
again,  and  send  her  in  search  of  a  situation  where  she 
would  be  able  to  earn  money  for  the  boy.  But  if  this 
extortion  continued  she  didn't  know  what  she  would  do, 
and  that  night  she  prayed  that  God  might  not  delay  the 
birth  of  her  child. 


XV. 

"  I  WISH,  mother,  you  was  going  to  the  hospital  with  me ; 
it  would  save  a  lot  of  expense  and  you'd  be  better  cared 
for." 

"  I'd  like  to  be  with  you,  dearie,  but  I  can't  leave  my 
'ome,  all  these  young  children  about  and  no  one  to  give  an 
order.  I  must  stop  where  I  am.  But  I've  been  intending 
to  tell  you — it  is  time  that  you  was  thinking  about  yer 
letter." 

''  What  letter,  mother  ?" 

^'They  don't  take  you  without  a  letter  from  one  of  the 
subscribers.  If  I  was  you,  now  that  the  weather  is  fine 
and  you  have  strength  for  the  walk,  I'd  go  up  to  Queen 
Charlotte's.  It  is  up  the  Edgware  Road  way,  I  think. 
What  do  you  think  about  to-morrow  ?" 

''  To-morrow's  Sunday." 


ESTHER  WATERS  121 

''  That  makes  no  matter,  them  horspitals  is  open." 
'"^  I'll  go  to-morrow  when  we  have  washed  up." 
On  Friday  Esther  had  had  to  give  her  father  more 
money  for  drink.  She  gave  him  two  shillings,  and  that 
made  a  sovereign  that  he  had  had  from  her.  On  Saturday 
night  he  had  been  brought  home  helplessly  drunk  long 
after  midnight,  and  next  morning  one  of  the  girls  had  to 
fetch  him  a  drop  of  something  to  pull  him  together.  He 
had  lain  in  bed  until  dinner-time,  swearing  he  would  brain 
anyone  who  made  the  least  noise.  Even  the  Sunday 
dinner,  a  nice  beef-steak  pudding,  hardly  tempted  him, 
and  he  left  the  table  saying  that  if  he  could  find  Tom 
Carter  they  would  take  a  penny  boat  and  go  for  a  blow  on 
the  river.  The  whole  family  waited  for  his  departure. 
But  he  lingered,  talked  inconsequently,  and  several  times 
Mrs.  Saunders  and  the  children  gave  up  hope.  Esther  sat 
without  a  word.  He  called  her  a  sulky  brute,  and, 
snatching  up  his  hat,  left  the  house.  The  moment  he 
was  gone  the  children  began  to  chatter  like  birds.  Esther 
put  on  her  hat  and  jacket. 
'^I'm  going,  mother." 

"Well,  take  care  of  yourself.  Good  luck  to  you." 
Esther  smiled  sadly.  But  the  beautiful  weather  melted 
on  her  lips,  her  lungs  swelled  with  the  warm  air,  and  she 
noticed  the  sparrow  that  flew  across  the  cab  rank,  and  saw 
the  black  dot  pass  down  a  mews  and  disappear  under  the 
eaves.  It  was  a  warm  day  in  the  middle  of  April ;  a  mist 
of  green  had  begun  in  the  branches  of  the  elms  of  the 
Green  Park  ;  and  in  Park  Lane,  in  all  the  balconies  and 
gardens,  wherever  nature  could  find  roothold,  a  spray  of 
green  met  the  eye.  There  was  music,  too,  in  the  air, 
the  sound  of  fifes  and  drums,  and  all  along  the  roadway 
as  far  as  she  could  see  the  rapid  movement  of  assembling 
crowds.  A  procession  with  banners  was  turning  the 
corner    of   the    Edgware    Road,  and    the    policeman    had 


122  ESTHER  WATERS 

stopped  the  traffic  to  allow  it  to  pass.  The  principal 
banner  blew  out  blue  and  gold  in  the  wind,  and  the  men 
that  bore  the  poles  walked  with  strained  backs  under  the 
Aveight;  the  music  changed^  opinions  about  the  objects  or 
the  demonstration  were  exchanged,  and  it  was  some  time 
before  Esther  could  gain  the  policeman's  attention.  At 
last  the  conductor  rang  his  bell,  the  omnibus  started,  and 
gathering  courage  she  asked  the  way.  It  seemed  to  her 
that  every  one  was  noticing  her,  and  fearing  to  be  over- 
heard she  spoke  so  low  that  the  policeman  understood  her 
to  say  Charlotte  Street.  At  that  moment  an  omnibus 
drew  up  close  l^eside  them. 

"  Charlotte  Street,  Charlotte  Street,"  said  the  police- 
man, ^^  there's  Charlotte  Street,  Bloomsbury."  Before 
Esther  could  answer  he  had  turned  to  the  conductor. 
"  You  don't  know  any  Charlotte  Street  about  here,  do  you  ?" 

"  No,  I  don't.  But  can't  yer  see  that  it  ain't  no  Char- 
lotte Street  she  wants,  but  Queen  Charlotte's  Hospital  ? 
And  ye'd  better  lose  no  time  in  directing  her." 

A  roar  of  coarse  laughter  greeted  this  pleasantry,  and 
burning  with  shame  she  hurried  down  the  Edgware  Road. 
But  she  hadn't  gone  far  before  she  had  to  ask  again,  and 
she  scanned  the  passers-by  seeking  some  respectable 
woman,  or  in  default  an  innocent  child. 

She  came  at  last  to  an  ugly  desert  place.  There  was 
the  hospital,  square,  forbidding,  opposite — a  tall,  lean  build- 
ing with  long  grey  columns.  Esther  rang,  and  the  great 
door,  some  fifteen  feet  high,  was  opened  by  a  small  boy. 

'^  I  want  to  see  the  secretary." 

"  Will  you  come  this  way  ?" 

She  was  shown  into  a  waiting-room,  and  while  waiting 
she  looked  at  the  religious  prints  on  the  walls.  A  lad  ot 
fifteen  or  sixteen  came  in.      He  said  : 

''  You  want  to  see  the  secretary  ?" 

"Yes." 


ESTHER  WATERS  123 

'[  But  I'm  afraid  you  can't  see  him  ;  he's  out." 

"  I  have  come  a  long  way ;  is  there  no  one  else  I  can 
see?" 

"Yes,  you  can  see  me — I'm  his  clerk.     Have  you  come 
to  be  confined  ?" 

Esther  answered  that  she  had. 

"  But/'  said  the  boy,  "you  are  not  in  labour  ;  we  never 
take  anyone  in  before." 

"  I  do  not  expect  to  be  confined  for  another  month.     I 
came  to  make  arrangements." 

"You've  got  a  letter  ?" 

"No." 

"Then  you   must  get  a   letter    from    one   of  the  sub- 
scribers." 

"  But  I  don't  know  any. " 

"  You  can  have  a  book  of  their  names  and  addresses." 

"  But  I  know  no  one." 

"  You  needn't  know  them.  You  can  go  and  call.  Take 
those  that  live  nearest — that's  the  way  it  is  done." 

"  Will  you  give  me  the  book?" 

"  I'll  go  and  get  one." 

The  boy  returned  a  moment  after  with  a  small  book,  for 
which  he  demanded  a  shilling.  Since  she  had  come  to 
London  her  hand  had  never  been  out  of  her  pocket.  She 
had  her  money  with  her,  for  she  didn't  dare  leave  it  at 
home  on  account  of  her  father.  The  clerk  looked  out  the 
addresses  for  her  and  she  tried  to  remember  them — two 
were  in  Cumberland  Place,  another  was  in  Bryanstone 
Square.  In  Cumberland  Place  she  was  received  by  an 
elderly  lady  who  said  she  did  not  wish  to  judge  anyone, 
but  it  was  her  invariable  practice  to  give  letters  only  to 
married  women.  There  was  a  delicate  smell  of  perfume  in 
the  room;  the  lady  stirred  the  fire  and  lay  back  in  her 
armchair.  Once  or  twice  Esther  tried  to  withdraw,  but 
the  lady,  although  unswervingly  ffiithful  to  her  principles, 


124  ESTHER  WATERS 

seemed  not  indifferent  to  Esthers  story,  and  asked  her 
many  questions. 

'^  I  don't  see  what  interest  all  that  can  be  to  you,  as  you 
ain't  going  to  give  me  a  letter/'  Esther  answered. 

The  next  house  she  called  at  the  lady  was  not  at  home, 
but  she  was  expected  back  presently,  and  the  maid  servant 
asked  her  to  take  a  seat  in  the  hall.  But  when  Esther 
refused  information  about  her  troubles  she  was  called  a 
stuck-up  thing  who  deserved  all  she  got,  and  was  told 
there  was  no  use  her  waiting.  At  the  next  place  she  was 
received  by  a  footman  who  insisted  on  her  communicating 
her  business  to  him.  Then  he  said  he  would  see  if  his 
master  was  in.  He  wasn't  in  ;  he  must  have  just  gone  out. 
The  best  time  to  find  him  was  before  half-past  ten  in  the 
morning. 

"  He'll  be  sure  to  do  all  he  can  for  you — he  always  do 
for  the  good-looking  ones.      How  did  it  all  happen?" 

"  What  business  is  that  of  yours  ?  I  don't  ask  your 
business." 

^^  Well,  you  needn't  turn  that  rusty." 

At  that  moment  the  master  entered.  He  asked  Esther 
to  come  into  his  study.  He  was  a  tall,  youngish-looking 
man  of  three  or  four-and-thirty,  with  bright  eyes  and  hair, 
and  there  was  in  his  voice  and  manner  a  kindness  that 
impressed  Esther.  She  wished,  however,  that  she  had 
seen  his  mother  instead  of  him,  for  she  was  more  than 
ever  ashamed  of  her  condition.  He  seemed  genuinely 
sorry  for  her,  and  regretted  that  he  had  given  all  his 
tickets  away.  Then  a  thought  struck  him,  and  he  wrote 
a  letter  to  one  of  his  friends,  a  banker  in  Lincoln's  Inn 
Fields.  This  gentleman,  he  said,  was  a  large  subscriber 
to  the  hospital,  and  would  certainly  give  her  the  letter  she 
required. 

The  visit  brought  a  little  comfort,  and  thinking  of  his 
kind  eyes  she  walked  slowly,  inquiring  out  her  way  until 


ESTHER  WATERS  125 

she  got  back  to  the  Marble  Arch,  and  stood  lookmg  down 
the  long  BayswaterRoadwhere  the  tall  houses  towered  above 
the  sunset ;  and  some  sensation  of  the  poetry  of  the  hour^ 
must  have  stolen  into  her  heart,  for  she  turned  into  the  ^ 
Park,  choosing  to  walk  among  the  crowds  scattered  like 
strips  of  black  tape.  Here  and  there  by  the  railings  the 
tape  had  been  wound  up  in  a  black  ball,  and  the  peg  was 
some  democratic  orator,  promising  poor  human  nature  un- 
conditional deliverance  from  evil.  Farther  on  were  heard 
sounds  from  a  harmonium,  and  hymns  were  being  sung,  and 
in  each  doubting  face  there  was  something  of  the  perplex- 
ing, haunting  look  which  the  city  wore. 

A  chill  wind  was  blowing.  Winter  had  returned  with 
the  night,  but  the  instinct  ot  spring  continued  in  the 
branches.  The  deep,  sweet  scent  of  the  hyacinth  floated 
along  the  railings,  and  the  lovers  that  sat  with  their  arms 
about  each  other  on  every  seat  were  of  Esther's  own  class. 
She  would  have  liked  to  have  called  them  round  her  and 
told  them  her  miserable  story,  so  that  they  might  profit  by 
her  experience. 


XVI. 

Only  three  weeks  remained,  and  she  had  hoped  to  spend 
them  with  her  mother,  who  was  timorous  and  desponding, 
and  stood  in  need  of  consolation.  But  this  was  not  to  be ; 
her  father's  drunkenness  continued,  and  daily  he  became 
more  extortionate  in  his  demands  for  money.  Esther  had 
not  six  pounds  left,  and  she  felt  that  she  must  leave.  It 
had  come  to  this,  that  she  doubted  if  she  were  to  stay  on 
that  the  clothes  on  her  back  might  not  be  taken  from  her. 
Mrs.  Saunders  was  of  the  same  opinion,  and  she  urged 
Esther  to  go.     But  scruples  restrained  her. 

'^  I  can't  bring  myself  to  leave  you,  mother  ;  something 
tells  me   I  should  stay  with  you.     It  is  dreadful  to  be 


126  ESTHER  WATERS 

parted  from  you.  I  wish  you  was  coming  to  the  hospital ; 
you'd  be  far  safer  there  than  at  home." 

"  I  know  that,  dearie  ;  but  where's  the  good  in  talking 
about  it  ?  It  only  makes  it  harder  to  bear.  You  know  I 
can't  leave.  It  is  terrible  hard,  as  you  says."  Mrs. 
Saunders  held  her  apron  to  her  eyes  and  cried.  "You 
have  always  been  a  good  girl,  never  a  better — my  one 
consolation  since  your  poor  father  died." 

"Don't  cry,  mother,"  said  Esther;  *' the  Lord  will 
watch  over  us,  and  we  shall  both  pray  for  each  other.  In 
about  a  month,  dear,  we  shall  be  both  quite  well,  and  you'll 
bless  my  baby,  and  I  shall  think  of  the  time  when  I  shall 
put  him  into  your  arms." 

"  I  hope  so,  Esther ;  I  hope  so,  but  I  am  full  of  fears. 
I'm  sore  afraid  that  we  shall  never  see  one  another  again — 
leastways  on  this  earth." 

"  Oh,  mother,  dear,  yer  mustn't  talk  like  that ;  you'll 
break  my  heart,  that  you  will." 

The  cab  that  took  Esther  to  her  lodging  cost  half-a- 
crown,  and  this  waste  of  money  frightened  her  thrifty 
nature,  inherited  through  centuries  of  working  folk.  The 
waste,  however,  had  ceased  at  last,  and  it  was  none  too 
soon,  she  thought,  as  she  sat  in  the  room  she  had  taken 
near  the  hospital,  in  a  little  eight-roomed  house,  kept  by 
an  old  woman  whose  son  was  a  bricklayer. 

It  was  at  the  end  of  the  week,  one  afternoon,  as  Esther 
was  sitting  alone,  there  came  within  her  a  great  and  sudden 
shock — life  seemed  to  be  slipping  from  her,  and  she  sat  for 
some  minutes  quite  unable  to  move,  and  when  the  pain 
ceased  she  went  downstairs  to  consult  Mrs.  Jones. 

"  Hadn't  I  better  go  to  the  hospital  now,  Mrs.  Jones  ?" 

"Not  just  yet,  my  dear;  them  is  but  the  first  labour 
pains ;  plenty  of  time  to  think  of  the  hospital ;  we  shall 
see  how  you  are  in  a  couple  of  hours." 

"  Will  it  last  so  long  as  that  ?" 


ESTHER  WATERS  127 

"  You'll  be  lucky  if  you  get  it  over  before  midnight. 
I  have  been  down  for  longer  than  that." 

"  Do  you  mind  my  stopping  in  the  kitchen  with  you  ? 
I  feel  frightened  when  I'm  alone." 

"No,  I'll  be  glad  of  your  company.  I'll  get  you  some 
tea  at  once." 

"I  couldn't  touch  anything.  Oh,  this  is  dreadful !"  she 
exclaimed,  as  she  walked  to  and  fro  holding  her  sides, 
balancing  herself  dolefully.  Often  Mrs.  Jones  stopped  in 
her  work  about  the  range  and  said,  looking  at  her,  "  I 
know  what  it  is,  1  have  been  through  it  many  a  time  ;  we 
all  must ;  it  is  our  earthly  lot."  At  seven  o'clock  Esther 
was  clinging  to  the  table,  and  with  pain  so  vivid  on  her 
face  that  Mrs.  Jones  laid  aside  the  sausages  she  was  cooking 
and  approached  the  suffering  girl. 
"  What !   is  it  so  bad  as  all  that  ?" 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  I  think  I'm  dying,  I  cannot  stand  up  ; 
give  me  a  chair,  give  me  a  chair !"  and  she  sank  upon  it, 
leaning  across  the  table,  her  face  and  neck  bathed  in  a 
cold  sweat. 

"John  will  have  to  get  his  supper  himself;    I'll  leave 
these  sausages  on  the  hob,  and  run  upstairs  and  put  on  my 
bonnet.     The  things   you  intend  to  bring  with  you,  the 
baby  clothes,  are  made  up  in  a  bundle,  aren't  they.''" 
"  Yes,  yes." 

Little  Mrs.  Jones  came  running  down  ;  she  threw  a  shawl 
over  Esther,  and  it  was  astonishing  what  support  she  lent 
to  the  suffering  girl,  calling  on  her  the  whole  time  to  lean 
on  her  and  not  be  afraid.  "  Now  then,  dear,  you  must 
keep  your  heart  up,  we  have  only  a  few  yards  farther 
to  go." 

"  You  are  too  good,  you  are  too  kind,"  Esther  said,  and 
she  leaned  against  the  wall,  and  Mrs.  Jones  rang  the  bell. 

"  Keep  up  your  spirits ;  to-morrow  it  will  be  all  over. 
I  will  come  round  and  see  how  you  are." 


128  ESTHER  WATERS 

The  door  opened.  The  porter  rang  the  bell,  and  a 
sister  came  running  down. 

"  Come,  come,  take  my  arm,"  she  said,  "  and  breathe 
hard  as  you  are  ascending  the  stairs.  Come  along,  you 
mustn't  loiter." 

On  the  second  landing  a  door  was  thrown  open,  and  she 
found  herself  in  a  room  full  of  people,  eight  or  nine  young- 
men  and  women. 

"  What !  in  there  }  and  all  those  people  ?"  said  Esther. 

'^  Of  course  ;  those  are  the  midwives  and  the  students." 

The  screams  she  had  heard  in  the  passage  came  from  a 
bed  on  the  left-hand  side.  A  woman  lay  there  huddled  up, 
and  Esther  was  taken  behind  a  screen  by  the  sister  who 
brought  her  upstairs,  undressed,  and  clothed  in  a  chemise 
a  great  deal  too  big  for  her,  she  heard  the  sister  say  so 
at  the  time  ;  and  as  she  walked  across  the  room  to  her  bed 
she  noticed  the  steel  instruments  on  the  round  table  and 
the  basins  on  the  floor. 

The  students  and  the  nurses  were  behind  her.  She 
knew  they  w^ere  eating  sweets,  for  she  heard  a  young  man 
ask  the  young  women  if  they  would  have  any  more  fondants. 
A  moment  after  her  pains  began  again,  and  she  saw  the 
young  man  whom  she  had  seen  handing  the  sweets 
approaching  her  bedside. 

"  Oh,  no,  not  him,  not  him  !"  she  cried  to  the  nurse 
"  Not  him,  not  him  !  he  is  too  young !  Don't  let  him  come 
near  me !" 

They  laughed  loudly,  and  she  buried  her  head  in  the 
pillow,  overcome  with  pain  and  shame  ;  and  when  she  felt 
him  by  her  she  tried  to  rise  from  the  bed. 

''  Let  me  go  !  take  me  away  !     Oh,  you  are  all  beasts  !" 

"Come,  come,  no  nonsense!"  said  the  nurse;  "you 
can't  have  what  you  like  ;  they  are  here  to  learn ;"  and 
when  he  had  tried  the  pains  she  heard  the  midwife  say 
that  it  wasn't  necessary  to  send  for  the  doctor.     Another 


ESTHER  WATERS  129 

said  that  it  would  be  all  over  in  about  three  hours'  time. 
"  An  easy  confinement,  I  should  say.  The  other  will  be 
more  interesting."  And  then  they  talked  of  the  plays 
they  had  seen,  and  those  they  wished  to  see.  She 
was  soon  listening  to  a  discussion  regarding  the  merits  of 
a  shilling  novel  which  every  one  was  reading,  and  then 
Esther  heard  a  stampede  of  nurses,  midwives,  and  students 
in  the  direction  of  the  window.  A  German  band  had 
come  into  the  street. 

'^  Is  that  the  way  to  leave  your  patient,  sister  ?"  said  the 
student  who  sat  by  Esther's  bed,  and  Esther  looked  into 
his  clear  blue,  girl-like  eyes,  wondered,  and  turned  away 
for  shame. 

The  sister  stopped  her  miitation  of  a  popular  comedian, 
and  said,  ''  Oh,  she's  all  right ;  if  they  were  all  like  her 
there'd  be  very  little  use  our  coming  here." 

"  Unfortunately,  that's  just  what  they  are,"  said  another 
student,  a  stout  fellow  with  a  pointed  red  beard,  the  ends 
of  which  caught  the  light.  Her  eyes  often  went  to  those 
stubble  ends,  and  she  hated  him  for  his  loud  voice  and 
jocularity.  One  of  the  midwives,  a  woman  with  a  long 
nose  and  small  grey  eyes,  seemed  to  mock  her,  and  she 
hoped  that  this  woman  would  not  come  near  her,  for  there 
was  something  sinister  in  her  face,  and  Esther  was  glad 
when  her  favourite,  a  little  blonde  woman  with  wavy 
flaxen  hair,  came  by  and  asked  her  if  she  felt  better.  She 
looked  a  little  like  the  young  student  who  still  sat  by  her 
bedside,  and  Esther  wondered  if  they  were  brother  and 
sister,  and  then  she  thought  that  they  were  sweet- 
hearts. 

Soon  after  a  bell  rang,  and  the  students  went  down  to 
supper,  the  nurse  in  charge  promising  to  warn  them  if  any 
change  should  take  place.  The  last  pains  had  so  thoroughly 
exhausted  her  that  she  had  fallen  into  a  doze.  But  she  could 
hear  the  chatter  of  the  nurses  so  clearly  that  she  did  not 

K 


130  ESTHER  WATERS 

believe  herself  asleep.  And  in  this  film  of  sleep  reality 
was  distorted^  and  the  unsuccessful  operation  which  the 
nurses  were  discussing  Esther  understood  to  be  a  con- 
spiracy against  her  life.  She  awoke,  listened,  and  gradu- 
ally sense  of  the  truth  returned  to  her.  She  was  in  the 
hospital,  and  the  nurses  were  talking  of  some  one  who  had 
died  last  Aveek.  The  woman  in  the  other  bed  seemed  to 
suffer  dreadfully.  Would  she  live  through  it  ?  W^ould 
she  herself  live  to  see  the  morning  ?  How  long  the  time, 
how  fearful  the  place  !  If  the  nurses  would  only  stop 
talking.  It  did  not  matter.  The  pains  would  soon  begin 
again.     It  was  awful  to  lie  listening,  waiting. 

The  windows  were  open,  and  the  mockmg  gaiety  of  the 
street  was  borne  in  on  the  night  wind.  Then  there  came 
a  trampling  of  feet  and  sound  of  voices  in  the  passage — 
the  students  and  nurses  were  coming  up  from  supper ;  and 
at  the  same  moment  the  pains  began  to  creep  up  from  her 
knees.  One  of  the  young  men  said  that  her  time  had  not 
come.  The  woman  with  the  sinister  look  that  Esther 
dreaded,  held  a  contrary  opinion.  The  point  was  argued, 
and,  mterested  in  the  question,  the  crowd  came  from  the 
window  and  collected  round  the  disputants.  The  young 
man  expounded  much  medical  and  anatomical  knowledge ; 
the  nurses  listened  with  the  usual  deference  of  women. 

Suddenly,  the  discussion  was  interrupted  by  a  scream 
from  Esther;  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  being  torn 
asunder,  that  life  was  going  from  her.  The  nurse  ran  to 
her  side,  a  look  of  triumph  came  upon  her  face,  and  she 
said,  "Now,  we  shall  see  who's  right,"  and  forthwith  went 
for  the  doctor.  He  came  running  up  the  stairs ;  silence 
and  scieiititic  coliectedness  gathered  round  Esther,  and 
after  a  brief  examination  he  said,  in  a  low  -whisper  : 

"  I'm  afraid  this  will  not  be  as  easy  a  case  as  one  might 
have  imagined.     I  shall  administer  chloroform." 

He  placed  a  small  wire  case  over  her  mouth  and  nose. 


ESTHER  WATERS  l3l 

The  sickly  odour  which  she  breathed  from  the  cotton 
wool  filled  her  brain  with  nausea  ;  it  seemed  to  choke  her  ; 
hfe  taded  a  little,  and  at  every  inhalation  she  expected 
to  lose  sight  of  the  circle  of  faces. 

And  then  the  darkness  began  to  lighten ;  night  passed 
into  dawn  ;  she  could  hear  voices,  and  when  her  eyes 
opened  the  doctors  and  the  nurses  were  still  standing 
round  her,  but  there  was  no  longer  any  expression  of  eager 
interest  on  their  faces.  She  wondered  at  this  change,  and 
then  out  of  the  silence  there  came  a  tiny  cry. 

"  What's  that  V  Esther  asked. 

"  That's  your  baby." 

"  My  baby  !     Let  me  see  it :  is  it  a  boy  or  a  girl  ?" 

"  It  is  a  boy ;  and  he  will  be  given  to  you  when  we  get 
you  out  of  the  labour  ward." 

"  I  knew  it  would  be  a  boy."  A  scream  carried 
her  thoughts  back  to  the  woman  whom  she  saw  in 
labour  when  she  entered  the  room.  ^'  Hasn't  she  been 
confined  yet .''" 

''  No,  and  I  don't  think  she  will  be  till  midday  ;  she's 
very  bad." 

The  door  was  thrown  open,  and  Esther  was  wheeled  into 
the  passage.  "Where  is  my  boy?"  she  said;  "give  him 
to  me." 

The  nurse  entered,  and  answered,  "Here."  A  pulp  of 
red  flesh  rolled  up  in  flannel  was  laid  alongside  of  her. 
its  eyes  were  open  ;  it  looked  at  her,  and  her  flesh  filled 
with  a  sense  of  happiness  so  deep  and  so  intense  that  she 
was  like  one  enchanted.  And  when  she  took  the  child  in 
her  arms  she  thought  she  must  die  of  happiness.  She  did 
not  hear  the  nurse  speak,  nor  did  she  understand  her  when 
she  took  the  babe  from  her  arms  and  laid  it  alongside  on 
the  pillow,  saying,  "You  must  let  the  little  thing  sleep; 
you  must  try  to  sleep  yourself" 


1S2  ESTHER  WATERS 

Her  personal  self  seemed  entirely  withdrawn ;  she 
existed  like  an  atmosphere  about  the  babe  and  lay 
absorbed  in  this  life  of  her  life,  this  flesh  of  her  flesh, 
unconscious  of  herself  as  a  sponge  in  warm  sea-water. 
She  touched  this  pulp  of  life,  and  was  thrilled,  and  once 
more  her  senses  swooned  with  love ;  it  was  still  there. 
She  remembered  that  the  nurse  had  said  it  was  a  boy. 
She  must  see  her  boy,  and  her  hands,  -working  as  in  a 
dream,  unwound  him,  and  she  gazed  until  he  awoke  and 
cried.  She  tried  to  hush  him  and  to  enfold  him,  but  her 
strength  failed  ;  she  could  not  help  him,  and  fear  came  lest 
he  should  die  ;  she  strove  to  reach  her  hands  to  him,  but 
all  strength  had  gone  from  her,  and  his  cries  sounded 
hollow  in  her  weak  brain.  Then  the  nurse  came 
and  said  : 

"See  what  you  have  done,  the  poor  child  is  all 
uncovered  ;  no  wonder  he  is  crying.  I  will  wrap  him  up, 
and  you  must  not  interfere  with  him  again."  But  as  soon 
as  the  nurse  turned  away  Esther  had  her  child  back  in  her 
arms.  She  could  not  sleep.  She  could  not  sleep  for 
thinking  of  him,  and  the  night  passed  in  long  adoration. 


xvn. 

All  her  joints  were  loosened ;  the  long  hospital  days 
passed  in  gentle  weariness ;  lady  visitors  came  and  asked 
questions,  and  Esther  said  her  father  and  mother  lived  in 
the  Vauxhall  Bridge  Road,  and  that  she  had  saved  four 
pounds.  But  the  woman  in  the  bed  next  to  Esther  (there 
were  two  beds  in  this  ward)  was  wiser,  and  by  declar- 
ing herself  to  be  without  home,  or  money,  or  friends,  she 
secured  all  the  sympathy  and  many  promises  of  help. 
They  received  visits  from  a  clergyman,  who  spoke  to 
Esther  of  God's  goodness  and  wisdom,  but  his  exhortations 


ESTHER  WATERS  133 

seemed  a  little  remote.  If  it  had  been  her  own  people 
who  came  and  knelt  about  her  bed,  lifting  their  voices  in 
the  plain  prayers  she  was  accustomed  to^  it  would  have 
been  different ;  but  tliis  well-to-do  clergyman,  with  his 
sophisticated  speech,  seemed  foreign  to  her,  and  failed 
to  draw  her  thoughts  from  the  sleeping  child. 

The  ninth  day  passed  ;  Esther  recovered  but  slowly, 
and  it  was  decided  she  should  not  leave  the  hospital 
before  the  end  of  the  third  week.  But  as  soon  as  she 
crossed  the  threshold  of  the  hospital  there  would  be  no 
more  peace,  and,  listening  to  the  never-ending  rumble  of 
the  street,  she  thought  of  her  dear  mother.  At  last  her 
sister  came  to  see  her. 

"Jenny,  what  has  happened  ;  is  mother  very  bad?" 

"  Mother  is  dead,  that's  what  I've  come  to  tell  you ;  I'd 
have  come  before,  but " 

'•  Mother  dead  !  Oh  no,  Jenny  !  Oh,  Jenny,  not  my 
poor  mother  !" 

"  Yes,  Esther.  I  knew  it  would  cut  you  up  dreadful  ; 
we  was  all  very  sorry,  but  she's  dead.  She's  dead  a  long 
time  now,  I  was  just  a-going  to  tell  you " 

"  Jenny,  what  do  you  mean  ?     Dead  a  long  time  ?" 

"  Well,  she  was  buried  more  than  a  week  ago.  We 
were  so  sorry  you  couldn't  be  at  the  funeral.  We  was  all 
there,  and  had  crape  on  our  dresses  and  father  had  crape 
on  his  'at.  We  all  cried,  especially  in  church  and  about 
the  grave,  and  when  the  sexton  threw  in  the  soil  it 
sounded  that  hollow  it  made  me  sob.  Julia,  she  lost  her 
'ead  and  asked  to  be  buried  with  mother,  and  I  had  to  lead 
her  away ;  and  then  we  went  'ome  to  dinner." 

"  Oh,  Jenny,  our  poor  mother  gone  from  us  for  ever  ! 
How  did  she  die  ?  Tell  me,  was  it  a  peaceful  death  r 
Did  she  suffer  ?" 

"  There  ain't  much  to  tell.  Mother  was  taken  bad 
almost  immediately  after  you  was  with  us  the  last  time. 


134  ESTHER  WATERS 

Mother  was  that  bad  all  the  day  long  and  all  night  too,  we 
could  'ardly  stop  in  the  'ouse  ;  it  just  gave  one  the  creeps 
to  listen  to  her  crying  and  moaning." 

^^And  then?" 

"  Why,  then  the  baby  was  born.  It  was  dead,  and 
mother  died  of  weakness  ;  prostration  the  doctor  called  it." 

Esther  hid  her  face  in  the  pillow,  and  an  anxious  look  of 
'^  self  began  to  appear  on  Jenny's  vulgar  London  street  face. 

^'  Look  'ere,  Esther,  you  can  cry  when  I've  gone ;  I've  a 
deal  to  say  to  yer  and  time  is  short." 

^' Oh,  Jenny,  don't  speak  like  that!  Father,  was  he 
kind  to  mother?" 

"  I  dunno  that  he  thought  much  about  it  ;  he  spent  'alf 
'is  time  in  the  public,  'e  did.  He  said  he  couldn't  abide 
the  'ouse  with  a  woman  a-screaming  like  that.  One  of  the 
neighbours  came  in  to  look  after  mother,  and  at  last  she 
had  the  doctor."  Esther  looked  at  her  sister  through 
streaming  tears,  and  the  woman  in  the  other  bed  spoke  of 
the  folly  of  poor  women  being  confined  "in  their  own 
,'1.  'omes — in  a  'ome  where  there  is  a  drunken  'usband,  and 
most  'omes  is  like  that  nowadays." 

At  that  moment  Esther's  baby  awoke,  crying  for  the 
breast,  and  in  a  moment  Esther's  face  took  on  an  expression 
of  holy  solicitude  as  she  watched  the  little  lips  catch- 
ing at  the  nipple,  and  the  wee  hand  pressing  the  white 
curve,  like  a  lamb  with  a  ewe,  for  all  nature  is  akin  ;  and 
Jenny  watched  the  gluttonous  lips,  interested  in  the 
spectacle,  yet  absorbed  in  what  she  had  come  to  say  to 
her  sister. 

"  Your  baby  do  look  'ealthy." 

"  Yes,  and  he  is  too,  not  an  ache  or  a  pain.  He's  as 
beautiful  a  boy  as  ever  lived.  But  think  of  poor  mother, 
Jenny,  think  of  poor  mother." 

"  I  do  think  of  her,  Esther.  But  I  can't  help  seeing 
your  baby.     He's  like  you,  Esther.     I  can  see  a  look  of 


ESTHER  WATERS  135 

you  in  'is  eyes.  But  i  don't  know  that  1  should  care  to 
'ave  a  baby  meself — the  expense  conies  very  'eavy  on  a 
girl." 

"  Please  God,  my  baby  shall  never  want  for  anythmg 
as  long  as  I  can  work  for  him.  But,  Jenny,  my  trouble 
will  be  a  lesson  to  you.  I  hope  you  will  ahvays  be  a  good 
girl,  and  never  allow  yourself  to  be  led  away ;  you  promise 
me  .^" 

^^  Yes,  I  promise." 

"  A  'ome  like  ours,  a  drunken  father,  and  now  that  poor 
mother  is  gone  it  will  be  worse  than  ever.  Jenny,  you  are 
the  eldest  and  must  do  your  best  to  look  after  the  younger 
ones,  and  as  much  as  possible  to  keep  father  from  the 
public-house.  I  shall  be  away ;  the  moment  I'm  well 
enough  I  must  look  out  for  a  place." 

"That's  just  what  I  came  to  speak  to  you  about. 
Father  is  going  to  Australia.  He  is  that  tired  of  England, 
and  as  he  lost  his  situation  on  the  railway  he  has  made  up 
his  mind  to  emigrate.  It  is  pretty  well  all  arranged ;  he 
has  been  to  an  agency  and  they  say  he'll  'ave  to  pay 
two  pounds  a  'ead,  and  that  runs  to  a  lot  of  money  in  a  big 
family  like  ours.  So  I'm  likely  to  get  left,  for  father  says 
that  I'm  old  enough  to  look  after  myself.  He's  willing 
to  take  me  if  I  gets  the  money,  not  without.  That's  what 
I  came  to  tell  yer  about." 

Esther  understood  that  Jenny  had  come  to  ask  for 
money.  She  could  not  give  it,  and  lapsed  into  thinking  of 
this  sudden  loss  of  all  her  family.  She  did  not  know  where 
Australia  was  ;  she  fancied  that  she  had  once  heard  that 
it  took  months  to  get  there.  But  she  knew  that  they  were 
all  going  from  her,  they  were  going  out  on  the  sea  in  a 
great  ship  that  would  sail  and  sail  farther  and  farther  away. 
She  could  see  the  ship  from  her  bedside,  at  first  strangely 
distinct,  alive  Avith  hands  and  handkerchiefs ;  she  could 
distinguish  all  the  children — Jenny,  Julia,  and  little  Ethel. 


136  ESTHER  WATERS 

She  lost  sight  of  theu'  faces  as  the  ship  cleared  the  harbour. 
Soon  after  the  ship  was  far  away  on  the  great  round  of 
waters^  again  a  little  while  and  all  the  streaming  canvas 
not  larger  than  a  gull's  wing,  again  a  little  while  and  the 
last  speck  on  the  horizon  hesitated  and  disappeared. 

"  What  are  you  crying  about,  Esther  ?  I  never  saw  yer 
cry  before.     It  do  seem  that  odd." 

"  I'm  so  weak.  Mother's  death  has  broken  my  heart,  and 
now  to  know  that  I  shall  never  see  any  one  of  you  again." 

"  It  do  seem  'ard.  W^e  shall  miss  you  sadly.  But  I  was 
going  to  say  that  father  can't  take  me  unless  I  finds  two 
pounds.     You  won't  see  me  stranded,  will  you,  Esther?" 

"  I  cannot  give  you  the  money,  Jenny.  Father  has  had 
too  much  of  my  money  already ;  there's  'ardly  enough  to 
see  me  through.  I've  only  four  pounds  left.  I  cannot 
give  you  my  child's  money  ;  God  knows  how  we  shall  live 
until  I  can  get  to  work  again." 

"  You're  nearly  well  now.  But  if  yer  can't  help  me,  yer 
can't.  I  don't  know  what's  to  be  done.  Father  can't  take 
me  if  I  don't  find  the  money." 

^^You  say  the  agency  wants  two  pounds  for  each 
person  ?" 

"  Yes,  that's  it." 

"  And  I've  four.  We  might  both  go  if  it  weren't  for  the 
baby,  but  I  don't  suppose  they'd  make  any  charge  for  a 
child  on  the  breast." 

"  I  dunno.     There's  father  ;  yer  know  what  he  is." 

"  That's  true.  He  don't  want  me  ;  I'm  not  one  of  his. 
But,  Jenny  dear,  it  is  terrible  to  be  left  all  alone.  Poor 
mother  dead,  and  all  of  you  going  to  Australia.  I  shall 
never  see  one  of  you  again." 

The  conversation  paused.  Esther  changed  the  baby 
from  the  left  to  the  right  breast,  and  Jenny  tried  to  think 
what  she  had  best  say  to  induce  her  sister  to  give  her  the 
money  she  wanted. 


ESTHER  WATERS  137 

"  If  you  don't  give  me  the  money  I  shall  be  left ;  it  is 
hard  luck,  that's  all,  for  there's  fine  chances  for  a  girl,  they 
says,  out  in  Australia.  If  I  remain  'ere  I  dunno  what  will 
become  of  me." 

"  You  had  better  look  out  for  a  situation.  We  shall  see 
each  other  from  time  to  time.  It's  a  pity  you  don't  know 
a  bit  of  cooking,  enough  to  take  the  place  of  kitchen-maid." 

"  I  only  know  that  dog-making,  and  I've  'ad  enough  of 
that." 

"  You  can  always  get  a  situation  as  general  servant  in  a 
lodging-'ouse." 

"  Service  in  a  lodging-'ouse  !  Not  me.  You  know  what 
that  is.     I'm  surprised  that  you'd  ask  me." 

^'^  Well,  what  are  yer  thinking  of  doing.''" 

"  I  was  thinking  of  going  on  in  the  pantomime  as  one 
of  the  hextra  ladies,  if  they'll  'ave  me." 

"  Oh,  Jenny,  you  won't  do  that,  will  you  ?  A  theatre  is 
only  sinfulness,  as  we  'ave  always  knowed." 

,''^You  know  that  I  don't  'old  with  all  them  preachv- 
preachy  Brethren  says  about  the  theatre." 

^^I  can't  argue — I  'aven't  the  strength,  and  it  interferes 
with  the  milk."  And  again,  Esther  said,  "  I  hope,  Jenny, 
that  you'll  take  example  by  me  and  will  do  nothing 
foolish  ;  you'll  always  be  a  good  girl." 

"  Yes,  if  I  gets  the  chance." 

*^  I'm  sorry  to  'ear  you  speak  like  that,  and  poor  mother 
only  just  dead." 

The  words  that  rose  to  Jenny's  lips  were  :  "  A  nice  one 
you  are,  with  a  baby  at  your  breast,  to  come  a-lecturing 
me,"  but,  fearing  Esther's  temper,  she  checked  the 
dangerous  words  and  said  instead  : 

"  I  didn't  mean  that  I  was  a-going  on  the  streets  right 
away  this  very  evening,  only  that  a  girl  left  alone  in 
London  without  anyone  to  look  to  may  go  wrong  in  spite 
of  herself,  as  it  were," 


138  ESTHER  WATERS 

'*^  A  girl  never  need  go  wrong  ;  if  she  does  it  is  always 
'er  own  fault."  Esther  spoke  mechanically,  but  suddenly 
remembering  her  own  circumstances  she  said  :  ^'  I'd  give 
you  the  money  if  I  dared,  but  for  the  child's  sake  1 
mustn't." 

"You  can  afford  it  well  enough — I  wouldn't  ask  you 
if  you  couldn't.  You'll  be  earning  a  pound  a  week 
presently." 

'•  A  pound  a  week  !     What  do  you  mean,  Jenny  ?" 

"  Yer  can  get  that  as  wet-nurse,  and  yer  food  too." 

"  How  do  yer  know  that,  Jenny  ?" 

"  A  friend  of  mine  who  was  'ere  last  year  told  me  she 
got  it,  and  you  can  get  it  too  if  yer  likes.  Fancy  a  pound 
for  the  next  six  months,  and  everything  found.  Yer 
might  spare  me  the  money  and  let  me  go  to  Australia  with 
the  others." 

"  I'd  give  yer  the  money  if  what  you  said  was  true." 

"  Yer  can  easily  find  out  what  I  say  is  the  truth  by  sending 
for  the  matron.  Shall  I  go  and  fetch  her  ?  I  won't  be  a 
minute  ;  you'll  see  what  she  says." 

A  few  moments  after  Jenny  returned  with  a  good- 
looking,  middle-aged  woman.  On  her  face  there  was 
that  testy  and  perplexed  look  that  comes  of  much 
business  and  many  interruptions.  Before  she  opened  her 
lips  her  face  had  said:  ^^  Come,  what  is  it  ?  Be  quick 
about  it." 

"  Father  and  the  others  is  going  to  Australia.  Mother's 
dead  and  was  buried  last  week,  so  father  says  there's 
nothing  to  keep  'im  'ere,  for  there  is  better  prospects  out 
there.  But  he  says  he  can't  take  me,  for  the  agency  wants 
two  pounds  a  'ead,  and  it  was  all  he  could  do  to  find  the 
money  for  the  others.  He  is  just  short  of  two  pounds,  and 
as  I'm  the  eldest  barring  Esther,  who  is  'is  step-daughter, 
'e  says  that  I  had  better  remain,  that  I'm  old  enough  to 
get  my  own  living,  which  is  very  'ard  on  a  girl,  for  I'm  only 


ESTHER  WATERS  159 

just  turned  sixteen.  So  I  thought  that  1  would  come  up 
'ere  and  tell  my  sister " 

"  But,  my  good  girl,  what  has  all  this  got  to  do  with  me  ? 
I  can't  give  you  two  pounds  to  go  to  Australia.  You  are 
only  wasting  my  time  for  nothing." 

"  'Ear  me  out,  missis.  I  want  you  to  explain  to  my  sister 
that  you  can  get  her  a  situation  as  a  wet-nurse  at  a  pound 
a  week — that's  the  usual  money  they  gets,  so  I  told  her, 
but  she  won' t  beheve  me  ;  but  if  you  tells  her,  she'll  give 
me  two  pounds  and  I  shall  be  able  to  go  with  fcither  to 
x\ustralia,  where  they  says  there  is  fine  chances  for  a 
girl." 

The  matron  examined  disdainfully  the  vague  skirt,  the 
broken  boots,  and  the  misshapen  hat,  coming  all  the  while 
to  quick  conclusions  regarding  the  moral  value  of  this 
unabashed  child  of  the  gutter. 

''  I  think  your  sister  will  be  \  ery  foolish  if  she  gives  you 
her  money." 

''  Oh,  don't  say  that,  missis,  don't.'' 

"  How  does  she  know  that  your  story  is  true  ?  Perhaps 
you  are  not  going  to  Australia  at  all.'' 

"Perhaps  I'm  not — that's  just  what  I'm  afraid  of;  but 
father  is,  and  I  can  prove  it  to  you.  I've  brought  a  letter 
from  father — 'ere  it  is  ;  now,  is  that  good  enough  for  yer  .^" 

^*^Come,  no  impertinence,  or  I'll  order  you  out  of  the 
hospital  in  double  quick  time,"  said  the  matron. 

'^  I  didn't  intend  no  impertinence,"  said  Jenny  humbly, 
"  only  I  didn't  like  to  be  told  I  was  telling  lies  when  I  was 
speaking  the  truth." 

"  Well,  I  see  that  your  father  is  going  to  Australia,"  the 
matron  replied,  returning  the  letter  to  Jenny ;  "^^you  want 
your  sister  to  give  you  her  money  to  take  you  there  too." 

"  What  I  wants  is  for  you  to  tell  my  sister  that  you  can  get 
her  a  situation  as  wet-nurse ;  then  perhaps  she'll  give  me 
the  money." 


140  ESTHER  WATERS 

"  If  your  sister  wants  to  go  out  as  wet-nurse,  I  daresay 
I  could  get  her  a  pound  a  week." 

"  But/'  said  Esther,  ''  I  should  have  to  put  baby  out  to 
nurse." 

"  You'll  have  to  do  that  in  any  case/'  Jenny  interposed  ; 
''you  can't  live  for  nine  months  on  your  savings  and  have 
all  the  nourishing  food  that  you'll  want  to  keep  your 
milk  going." 

"  If  I  was  yer  sister  I'd  see  yer  further  before  I'd  give 
yer  my  money.  You  must  'ave  a  cheek  to  come  a-asking 
for  it,  to  go  off  to  Australia  where  a  girl  'as  chances,  and 
yer  sister  with  a  child  at  the  breast  left  behind.  Well  I 
never !" 

Jenny  and  the  matron  turned  suddenly  and  looked  at 
the  woman  in  the  opposite  bed  who  had  so  unexpectedly 
expressed  her  views. 

"  What  odds  is  it  to  you  ?"  Jenny  screamed  ;  '^  what 
business  is  it  of  yours,  coming  poking  your  nose  in  my 
affairs?" 

"Come,  now,  I  can't  have  any  rowing,"  exclaimed  the 
matron. 

"  Rowing !  I  should  like  to  know  what  business  it  is 
of  'ers/' 

"  Hush,  hush,  I  can't  have  you  interfering  with  my 
patients ;  another  word  and  I'll  order  you  out  of  the 
hospital." 

^'  Horder  me  out  of  the  horspital !  and  what  for  ?  Who 
began  it  ?  No,  missis,  be  fair ;  wait  until  my  sister  gives 
her  answer." 

"  Well,  then,  she  must  be  quick  about  it — I  can't  wait 
about  here  all  day." 

"  I'll  give  my  sister  the  money  to  take  her  to  Australia 
if  you  say  you  can  get  me  a  situation  as  wet-nurse." 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  can  do  that.  It  was  four  pounds  five 
that  you  gave  me  to  keep.     I  remember  the  amount,  for 


ESTHER  WATERS  141 

since  I've  been  here  no  one  has  come  with  quarter  that. 
If  they  have  five  shilUngs  they  think  they  can  buy  half 
London." 

"  My  sister  is  very  careful/'  said  Jenny,  sententiously. 
Tlie  matron  looked  sharply  at  her  and  said : 

"  Now  come  along  with  me — I'm  going  to  fetch  your 
sister's  money.  I  can't  leave  you  here — you'd  get  quarrel- 
ling with  my  patients." 

"No,  missis,  indeed  I  won't  say  nothing  to  her." 

"  Do  as  I  tell  you.     Come  along  with  me." 

So  with  a  passing  scowl  Jenny  expressed  her  contempt 
for  the  woman  who  had  come  "a-interfering  in  'er  business/' 
and  went  after  the  matron,  watching  her  every  movement, 
and  when  they  came  back  Jenny's  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
matron's  fat  hand  as  if  she  could  see  the  yellow  metal 
through  the  fingers. 

"  Here  is  your  money,"  said  the  matron  ;  ''  four  pounds 
five.     You  can  give  your  sister  what  you  like." 

Esther  held  the  four  sovereigns  and  the  two  half-crowns 
in  her  hand  for  a  moment,  then  she  said : 

"  Here,  Jenny,  are  the  two  pounds  you  want  to  take  you 
to  Australia.  I  'ope  they'll  bring  you  good  luck,  and  that 
you'll  think  of  me  sometimes." 

''  Indeed  I  will,  Esther.  You've  been  a  good  sister  to 
me,  indeed  you  'ave  ;  I  shall  never  forget  you,  and  will 
write  to  you.     It  is  very  'ard  parting." 

•'Come,  come,  never  mind  those  tears.  You  have  got 
your  money ;  say  good-bye  to  your  sister  and  run 
along."  ^ 

"  Don't  be   so  'eartless,"  cried  Jenny,  whose  suscepti-  C'  ■' 
bilities  were  now  on  the  move.     "  'Ave  yer  no  feeling ;  ^^ 
don't  yer  know  what  it  is  to  bid  good-bye  to  yer  sister,  and  -^ 
perhaps  for  ever  ?"     Jenny  fiung  herself  into  Esther's  arms 
crying  bitterly.     '•  Oh,  Esther,  I  do  love  3  ou  ;  yer  'ave  been 
that  kind  to  me  1  shall  never  forget  it.     I  shall  be  ^  ery 


142  ESTHER  WATERS 

lonely  without  you.  Write  to  me  sometimes  ;  it  will  be  a 
comfort  to  hear  how  j^ou  are  getting  on.  If  I  marry  I'll 
send  for  you_,  and  you'll  bring  the  baby.  " 

"  Do  you  think  I'd  leave  him  behind  ?     Kiss  'im  before 
you  go." 

"Good-bye,  Esther;  take  care  of  yourself." 
She  was  now  alone  in  the  world,  and  she  remembered 
the  night  in  her  mind  when  she  walked  home  from  the 
hospital.  She  lay  dreaming  of  those  who  were  going  away 
for  ever.  She  was  now  alone  in  a  great  wilderness  with 
her  child,  for  whom  she  would  have  to  work  for  many, 
many  years,  and  did  not  know  how  it  would  all  end. 
Would  she  be  able  to  live  through  it  ?  Had  she  done  right 
in  letting  Jenny  have  the  money  ?  She  should  not  have 
given  it ;  but  she  hardly  knew  what  she  was  doing,  she 
was  so  weak,  and  the  news  of  her  mother's  death  over- 
came her.  She  should  not  have  given  Jenny  her  boy's 
money.  But  perhaps  it  might  turn  out  all  right  after  all. 
If  the  matron  got  her  a  situation  as  Avet-nurse  she'd  be 
able  to  pull  through.  "  So  they  would  separate  us,"  she 
whispered,  bending  over  the  sleeping  child.  "  There  is 
no  help  for  it,  my  poor  darling.  There's  no  help  for  it,  no 
help  for  it." 

Next  day  Esther  was  taken  out  of  bed.  She  spent  part 
of  the  afternoon  sitting  in  an  easy-chair,  and  Mrs.  Jones 
came  to  see  her.  The  little  old  woman  seemed  like  one 
whom  she  had  known  always,  and  Esther  told  her  about 
her  mother's  death  and  the  departure  of  her  family  for 
Australia.  Mrs.  Jones  bade  her  cheer  up,  saying  that. 
things  were  never  as  bad  as  they  seemed,  and  she  fell  to 
thinking  that  no  more  than  a  week  lay  between  her  and 
the  beginning  of  the  struggle  which  she  dreaded.  She 
had  been  told  that  they  did  not  usually  keep  anyone  in 
the  hospital  more  than  a  fortnight.  But  the  matron 
vould   do  all   she   could,  which   was   not,   ho^vever,  very 


ESTHER  WATERS  143 

much,  for  three  days  after  Mrs.  Jones'  visit  she  came  into 
the  room  hurriedly. 

*^  I'm  very  sorry/'  she  said,  "  but  a  number  of  new 
patients  are  expected;  there's  nothing  for  it  but  to  get  rid 
of  you.     It  is  a  pity,  for  I  can  see  you  are  both  very  weak." 

"  What,  me  too  ?"  said  the  woman  in  the  other  bed.  "  I 
can  hardly  stand;  I  tried  just  now  to  get  across  the  room." 

*'  I'm  very  sorry,  but  we've  new  patients  coming,  and 
there's  all  our  spring  cleaning.  Have  you  any  place  to 
go  to  ?" 

'^  No  place  except  a  lodging,"  said  Esther  ;  ^^  and  I  have 
only  two  pounds  five  now." 

''  What's  the  use  in  taking  us  at  all  if  you  fling  us  out  on 
the  street  when  we  can  hardly  walk  .'*"  said  the  other 
woman.  "  I  wish  I  had  gone  and  drowned  myself.  I  was 
very  near  doing  it.  If  I  had  it  would  be  all  over  now  for 
me  and  the  poor  baby." 

''I'm  used  to  all  this  ingratitude,"  said  the  matron. 
"  You  have  got  through  your  confinement  very  comfortably, 
and  your  baby  is  quite  healthy  ;  I  hope  you'll  try  and  keep 
it  so.     Have  you  any  money?" 

''  Only  four-and-sixpence." 

"  Have  you  got  any  friends  to  whom  you  can  go  ?" 

''  No." 

''Then  you'll  have  to  apply  for  admission  to  the 
workhouse." 

The  woman  made  no  answer,  and  at  that  moment  two 
sisters  came  and  forcibly  began  to  dress  her.  She  fell 
back  from  time  to  time  in  their  arms,  almost  fainting. 

'^  Lord,  what  a  job  !"  said  one  sister ;  "  she's  just  like  so 
much  lead  in  one's  arms.  But  if  we  listened  to  them  we 
should  have  them  loafing  here  over  a  month  more,"  and 
as  Esther  did  not  require  so  much  assistance,  the  sister 
said,  "  Oh,  you  are  as  strong  as  they  make  'em  ;  you  might 
have  gone  two  days  ago." 


144  ESTHER  WATERS 

"You're  no  better  than  brutes,"  Esther  muttered, 
Then  turning  to  the  matron,  she  said,  "  You  promised  to 
get  me  a  situation  as  wet-nurse." 

"  Yes,  so  I  did,  but  the  lady  to  whom  I  intended  to 
recommend  you  wrote  this  morning  to  say  that  she  had 
suited  herself." 

"  But  do  you  think  you  could  get  me  a  situation  as  wet- 
nurse  ?"  said  the  other  woman ;  '^  it  would  save  me  from 
going  to  the  workhouse.'' 

"  I  really  don't  know  what  to  do  with  you  all ;  you  all 
want  to  stop  in  the  hospital  at  least  a  month,  eating  and 
drinking  the  best  of  everything,  and  then  you  want 
situations  as  wet-nurses  at  a  pound  a  week." 

"  But,"  said  Esther,  indignantly,  "  I  never  should  have 
given  my  sister  two  pounds  if  you  hadn't  told  me  you 
could  get  me  the  situation." 

''  I'm  sorrry,"  said  the  matron, ''  to  have  to  send  you  away. 
I  should  like  to  have  kept  you,  but  really  there  is  no  help 
for  it.  As  for  the  situation,  I'll  do  the  best  I  can.  It  is 
true  that  the  place  I  intended  for  you  is  filled  up,  but  there 
will  be  another  shortly,  and  you  shall  have  the  first.  Give 
me  your  address.  I  shall  not  keep  you  long  waiting,  you  can 
depend  upon  me.  You  are  still  very  weak,  I  can  see  that. 
Would  you  like  to  have  one  of  the  nurses  to  walk  round 
with  you  ?  You  had  better — you  might  fall  and  hurt  the 
hahy.     My  word,  he  is  a  fine  boy." 

"  Yes,  he  is  a  beautiful  boy  ;  it  will  break  my  heart  to 
part  with  him." 

Some  eight  or  nine  poor  girls  stood  outside,  dressed 
alike  in  dingy  garments,  like  half-dead  flies  trying  to 
crawl  through  an  October  afternoon ;  and  with  their 
babies  and  a  keen  wind  blowing,  they  found  it  difficult  to 
hold  on  their  hats. 

"  It  do  catch  you  a  bit  rough,  coming  out  of  them  ot 
rooms,  '  said  a  woman  standing  by  her.     '"'  I'm  that  veak 


ESTHER  WATERS  145 

I  can  'ardly  carry  my  baby.  I  dunno  ow  I  shall  get  as 
far  as  the  Edgware  Road.  I  take  my  'bus  there.  Are  you 
going  that  way  ?" 

"  No,  I'm  gomg  close  by,  round  the  corner." 


XVIII. 

Her  hair  hung  about  her,  her  hands  and  wrists  were 
shrunken,  her  flesh  was  soft  and  flabby,  for  suckling  her 
child  seemed  to  draw  all  strength  from  her,  and  her  nervous 
depression  increased  from  day  to  day,  she  being  too  weary 
and  ill  to  think  of  the  future  ;  and  for  a  whole  week  her 
physical  condition  held  her  to  the  exclusion  of  every  other 
thought.  Mrs.  Jones  was  very  kind,  charging  her  only 
ten  shillings  a  week  for  her  board  and  lodging ;  but  this 
was  a  great  deal  when  no  more  than  two  pounds  five 
shillings  remained  between  her  and  the  workhouse,  and 
this  fact  was  brought  home  to  her  sternly  when  Mrs.  Jones 
came  to  her  for  the  first  week's  money.  Ten  shillings 
gone ;  only  one  pound  fifteen  shillings  left,  and  still  she 
was  so  weak  that  she  could  hardly  get  up  and  down  stairs. 
But  if  she  were  twice  as  weak,  if  she  had  to  crawl  along 
the  street  on  her  hands  and  knees,  she  must  go  to  the 
hospital  and  implore  the  matron  to  find  her  a  situation  as 
wet-nurse.  Well,  it  was  raining  heavily,  and  Mrs.  Jones 
said  it  was  madness  for  her  to  go  out  in  such  weather, 
but  go  she  must ;  and  though  it  was  but  a  few  hundred 
yards,  she  often  thought  she'd  like  to  lie  down  and  die. 
At  the  hospital  disappointment  awaited  her.  Why  hadn't 
she  called  yesterday?  Yesterday  two  ladies  of  title  had 
come  and  taken  two  girls  away.  Such  a  chance  might 
not  occur  for  some  time.  ''  For  some  time,"  thought 
Esther.  "  Very  soon  I  shall  have  to  apply  for  admission  at 
the  workhouse."    She  reminded  the  matron  of  her  promise. 


146  ESTHER  WATERS 

and  returned  home  more  dead  than  ahve.  Mrs.  Jones 
helped  her  to  change  her  clothes^  and  bade  her  be  of  good 
heart.  Esther  looked  at  her  hopelessly^  and  sitting  down 
on  the  edge  of  her  bed  she  put  the  baby  to  her  breast. 

Another  week  passed.  She  had  been  to  the  hospital 
every  day,  but  no  one  had  been  to  inquire  for  a  wet-nurse. 
Her  money  was  reduced  to  a  few  shillings_,  and  she  tried 
to  reconcile  herself  to  the  idea  that  she  might  do  worse 
than  to  accept  the  harsh  shelter  of  the  workhouse.  Her 
nature  revolted  against  it ;  but  she  must  do  what  was  best 
for  the  child,  and  often  asked  herself  how  it  would  all  end. 
And  the  more  she  thought,  the  more  terrible  did  the 
future  seem.  Her  miserable  thoughts  were  interrupted 
by  a  footstep  on  the  stairs.  It  Avas  Mrs.  Jones,  coming  to 
tell  her  that  a  lady  who  wanted  a  wet-nurse  had  come 
from  the  hospital ;  and  a  lady  dressed  in  a  beautiful 
brown  silk  came  in,  and  looked  around  the  humble  room, 
clearly  shocked  at  its  poverty.  Esther,  who  was  sitting 
on  the  bed,  rose  to  meet  the  fine  lady — a  thin  woman, 
with  narrow  temples,  aquiline  features,  bright  eyes,  and 
a  disagreeable  voice. 

^'^You  are  the  young  person  who  wants  a  situation  as 
wet-nurse?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  Are  you  married  ?" 

''  No,  ma'am." 

^'  Is  that  your  first  child  ?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  Ah  !  that's  a  pity.  But  it  doesn't  matter  much,  so  long 
as  you  and  your  baby  are  healthy.    Will  you  show  it  to  me  ?" 

"  He  is  asleep  now,  ma'am,"  Esther  said,  raising  the 
bedclothes.     ^^  There  never  was  a  healthier  child." 

^'  Yes,  he  seems  healthy  enough.  You  have  a  good 
supply  of  milk  ?" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 


ESTHER  WATERS  147 

"  Fifteen  shillings,  and  all  found.     Does  that  suit  you  ?" 

"  I  had  expected  a  })ound  a  week." 

''  It  is  only  your  first  baby.  Fifteen  shillings  is  quite 
enough.  Of  course,  I  only  engage  you  subject  to  the 
doctor's  approval.      I'll  ask  him  to  call." 

"  Very  well,  ma'am  ;  I  shall  be  glad  of  the  place." 

"  Then  it  is  settled.     You  can  come  at  once  ?" 

''  I  must  arrange  to  put  my  baby  out  to  nurse,  ma'am." 

The  lady's  face  clouded.  But  following  up  another  train 
of  thought,  she  said  : 

"  Of  course,  you  must  arrange  about  your  baby,  and  I 
hope  you'll  make  proper  arrangements.  Tell  the  woman 
in  whose  charge  you  leave  it  that  I  shall  want  to  see  it 
every  three  weeks.  It  will  be  better  so,"  she  added,  under 
her  breath,  "  for  two  have  died  already." 

^^This  is  my  card,"  said  the  lady — "Mrs.  Rivers,  Curzon 
Street,  Mayfair — and  I  shall  expect  you  to-morrow  after- 
noon— that  is  to  say,  if  the  doctor  approves  of  you.  Here 
is  one-and-sixpence  for  your  cab  fare." 

"Thank  you,  ma'am." 

"I  shall  expect  you  not  later  than  four  o'clock.  I 
hope  you  won't  disappoint  me.  Remember,  my  child  is 
waiting." 

And  when  Mrs.  Rivers  left,  Esther  asked  Mrs.  Jones 
what  she  was  to  do.  She'd  have  to  find  somebody  to  look 
after  her  child.  It  was  now  just  after  two  o'clock.  Baby 
was  asleep,  and  would  want  nothing  for  three  or  four 
hours,  and  Mrs.  Jones  gave  her  the  address  of  a  respectable 
woman.  But  this  woman  was  looking  after  twins,  and 
could  not  undertake  the  charge  of  another  baby.  Esther 
visited  many  streets,  always  failing  for  one  reason  or 
another,  till  at  last  she  found  herself  in  Wandsworth,  in 
a  battered,  tumble-down  little  street,  no  thoroughfare, 
only  four  houses,  a  coal-shed,  and  some  broken  Mooden 
palings.     In  the  area   of  No.   3   three  little  mites  were 


148  ESTHER  WATERS 

playing,  and  at  Esther's  call  a  short,  fat  woman  came  out 
of  the  kitchen,   her  dirty  apron   sloping  over   her  high 
stomach,  and  her  pale  brown  hair  twisted  into  a  knot  at 
the  top  of  her  head. 
<'  Well,  what  is  it  ?" 

"  I  came  about  putting  a  child  out  to  nurse.  You  are 
Mrs.  Spires,  ain't  yer  ?" 

*^  Yes,  that's  my  name.     May  I  ask  who  sent  you  ?" 
Esther  told  her,  and  then  Mrs.  Spires  asked  her  to  step 
down  into  the  kitchen. 

"  Them  'ere  children  you  saw  in  the  area  I  looks  after 
while  their  mothers  are  out  washing  or  charing.  They 
takes  them  'ome  in  the  evening.  I  only  charges  them 
fourpence  a  day,  and  it  is  a  loss  at  that,  for  they  does  take 
a  lot  of  minding.     W^hat  age  is  yours?" 

"  Mine  is  only  a  month  old.  I've  a  chance  to  go  out  as 
wet-nurse  if  I  can  find  a  place  to  put  him  out  to  nurse. 
Will  you  look  after  my  baby  ?" 

"  How  much  do  you  think  of  paying  for  him  ?" 
"  Five  shillings  a  week." 

"  And  you  a-going  out  as  wet-nurse  at  a  pound  a  week  ; 
you  can  afford  more  than  that." 

"  I'm  only  getting  fifteen  shillings  a  week." 
"  Well,  you  can  afford  to  pay  six.    I  tell  you  the  respon- 
sibility of  looking  after  a  hinfant  is  that  awful  nowadays 
that  I  don't  care  to  undertake  it  for  less." 

Esther  hesitated,  for  she  didn't  like  this  woman. 
'^  I  suppose,"  said  the  woman,  altering  her  tone  to  one 
of  mild  interrogation,  ''  you  would  like  your  baby  to  have 
the  best  of  everything,  and  not  the  drainings  of  any  bottle 
that's  handy  ?" 

"  I  should  like  my  child  to  be  well  looked  after,  and 
I  must  see  him  every  three  weeks." 

''  Do  you  expect  me  to  bring  up  the  child  to  wherever 
the  lady  lives,  and  pay  my  'bus  fare,  all  out  of  five  shillings 


ESTHER  WATERS  149 

a  week  ?  It  can't  be  done  !"  Esther  didn't  answer. 
"  You  ain't  married,  of  course  ?"  Mrs.  Spires  said  suddenly. 

"  No,  I  ain't ;  what  about  that  ?" 

''Oh,  nothing;  there  is  so  many  of  you,  that's  all. 
You  can't  lay  yer  'and  on  the  father  and  get  a  bit  out 
of  'im?" 

They  stopped  speaking.  Esther  looked  round  sus- 
piciously, and  noticing  the  look  the  woman  said : 

^•'  Your  baby  will  be  well  looked  after  'ere ;  a  nice  warm 
kitchen,  and  Tve  no  other  babies  for  the  moment ;  them 
children  don't  give  no  trouble,  they  plays  in  the  area. 
You  had  better  let  me  have  the  child  ;  you  w^on't  do  better 
than  'ere." 

Esther  promised  to  think  it  over  and  let  her  know  to- 
morrow. It  took  her  many  omnibuses  to  get  home,  and 
it  was  quite  dark  when  she  pushed  the  door  to.  The  first 
thing  that  caught  her  ear  was  her  child  crying.  "  What 
is  the  matter?"  she  cried,  hurrying  down  the  passage. 

'^  Oh,  is  that  you  ?  You  have  been  away  a  time.  The 
poor  child  is  that  hungry  he  has  been  crying  this  hour  or 
more.  If  I'd  'ad  a  bottle  I'd  'ave  given  him  a  little 
milk." 

"  Hungry,  is  he  ?  Then  he  shall  have  plenty  soon.  It 
is  nearly  ttie  last  time  I  shall  give  the  poor  darling  my 
breast."  She  told  Mrs.  Jones  about  Mrs.  Spires,  and  both 
women  tried  to  arrive  at  a  decision. 

"  Since  you  'ave  to  put  the  child  out  to  nurse,  you 
might  as  well  put  him  there  as  elsewhere ;  the  woman 
will  look  after  him  as  well  as  she  can — she'll  do  that,  if  it 
is  for  the  sake  of  the  six  shillings  a  week." 

"  Yes,  yes,  1  know  ;  but  I've  always  heard  that  children 
die  that  are  put  out  to  nurse.  If  mine  died  I  never  should 
forgive  myself." 

She  could  not  sleep ;  she  lay  with  her  arms  about  her 
baby,  distracted  at  the  thought  of  parting  from  him,  and 


150  ESTHER  WATERS 

wondering  what  had  she  done  that  her  baby  should  be 
separated  from  her?  "And  oTall  what  had  the  poor  Httle 
darling  done  ?  He  at  least  was  innocent ;  yet  he  was  to 
be  deprived  of  his  mother  ?  And  at  midnight  she  threw  her 
legs  out  of  bed,  lighted  a  candle,  looked  at  him,  took  him 
in  her  arms,  squeezed  him  to  her  bosom  till  he  cried,  and 
the  thought  came  that  it  would  be  sweeter  to  kill  him 
with  her  own  hands  than  to  be  parted  from  him. 

But  the  thought  of  murder  went  with  the  night,  and 
she  almost   enjoyed   the  journey  to   Wandsworth.      Her 
baby  laughed  and  cooed,  and  was  much  admired  in  the 
omnibus,  and  the  little   street  where   Mrs.    Spires  lived 
seemed  different.      A  cart  of  hay  was   being  unloaded, 
and  this  gave  the  place  a  pleasant  rural  air.     Mrs.  Spires, 
too,  was  cleaner,  tidier ;  Esther  no  longer  disliked  her ; 
she  had  a  nice  little  cot  ready  for  the  baby,  and  he  seemed 
so  comfortable  in  it  that  Esther  did  not  feel  the  pain  at 
parting  which  she  had  expected  to  feel.     She  would  see 
him  in  a  few  weeks,  and  in  those  weeks  she  would  be 
richer.    It  seemed  quite  wonderful  to  earn  so  much  money 
in  so  short  a  time,  and  she  returned  thinking  that  her 
luck  seemed  to  have  turned  at  last ;  and  so  engrossed 
was  she  in  thoughts  and  dreams  of  her  good  fortune  that 
she  nearly  forgot  to  get  out  of  her  'bus  at  Charing  Cross, 
and  had  it  not  been  for  the  attention  of  the  conductor 
might  have  gone  on,  she  did  not  know  where — perhaps 
to  Clerkenwell,  or  may  be  to  Islington.     And  when  the 
second  'bus  turned   into  Oxford  Street  she  jumped  out 
not  wishing  to  spend  more  money  than  she  could  help 
Mrs.  Jones  approved  of  all  she  had  done,  aided  her  to 
pack  up  her  box,  and  sent  her  away  full  of  the  adventure 
and  the  prospect.     She  went  wondering  if  the  house  she  was 
going  to  was  as  grand  as  Woodview,  and  was  much  struck 
by  the  appearance  of  the  maid-servant  who  opened  the 
door  to  her. 


ESTHER  WATERS  151 

"  Oh,  here  you  are,"  Mrs.  Rivers  said.  "  I  have  been 
anxiously  expecting  you ;  my  baby  is  not  at  all  well. 
Come  up  to  the  nursery  at  once.  I  don't  know  your 
name,"  she  said,  turning  to  Esther. 

"  Waters,  ma'am. " 

'^'^  Emily,  you'll  see  that  Waters'  box  is  taken  to  her 
room." 

'^'  I'll  see  to  it,  ma'am." 

"  Then  come  up  at  once,  Waters.  1  hope  you'll  succeed 
better  than  the  others." 

A  tall,  handsome  gentleman  stood  at  the  door  of  a  room 
full  of  beautiful  things,  and  as  they  went  past  him  Mrs. 
Rivers  said,  "This  is  the  new  nurse,  dear."  Higher  up, 
Esther  saw  a  bedroom  of  soft  hangings  and  bright  por- 
celain. Then  another  staircase,  and  the  little  wail  of  a 
child  caught  on  the  ear,  and  Mrs.  Rivers  said,  "  The  poor 
little  thing;  it  never  ceases  crying.  Take  it.  Waters, 
take  it." 

Esther  sat  down,  and  soon  the  little  thing  ceased  crying. 

''  It  seems  to  take  to  you,"  said  the  anxious  mother. 

'•  So  it  seems,"  said  Esther ;  "  it  is  a  wee  thing,  not  half 
the  size  of  my  boy." 

"'  I  hope  the  milk  will  suit  her,  and  that  she  won't  bring 
it  up.     This  is  our  last  chance." 

"  I  daresay  she  Avill  come  round,  ma'am.  I  suppose  you 
weren't  strong  enough  to  suckle  her  yourself,  and  yet  you 
looks  'ealthy." 

"I?  No,  I  could  not  undertake  to  nurse  it."  Then, 
glancing  suspiciously  at  Esther,  whose  breast  was  like  a 
little  cup,  Mrs.  Rivers  said,  "  I  hope  you  have  plenty  of 
milk?" 

•'  Oh  yes,  ma'am ;  they  said  at  the  hospital  I  could 
bring  up  twins." 

"  Your  supper  will  be  ready  at  nine.  But  that  will  be 
a  long  time  for  you  to  wait.      I  told  them  to  cut  you  some 


152  ESTHER  WATERS 

sandwiches^  and  you'll  have  a  glass  of  porter.  Or  perhaps 
you'd  prefer  to  wait  till  supper  ?  You  can  have  your 
supper^  you  know,  at  eight,  if  you  like?" 

Esther  took  a  sandwich  and  Mrs.  Rivers  poured  out  a 
glass  of  porter.  And  later  in  the  evening  Mrs.  Rivers 
came  down  from  her  drawing-room  to  see  that  Esther's 
supper  was  all  right,  and  not  satisfied  with  the  handsome/ 
fare  that  had  been  laid  before  her  child's  nurse,  she  went 
into  the  kitchen  and  gave  strict  orders  that  the  meat  for 
the  future  was  not  to  be  quite  so  much  cooked. 

Something  jarred,  however ;  such  constant  mealing  did 
not  seem  natural,  and  her  self-respect  was  w^ounded ;  she 
hated  her  position  in  this  house,  and  sought  and  found 
consolation  in  the  thought  that  she  w^as  earning  good 
money  for  her  baby.  She  noticed,  too,  that  she  never  \vas 
allowed  out  alone,  and  that  her  walks  were  limited  to  just 
enough  exercise  to  keep  her  in  health. 

A  fortnight  passed,  and  one  afternoon,  after  having  put 
baby  to  sleep,  she  said  to  Mrs.  Rivers,  "  I  hope,  ma'am, 
you'll  be  able  to  spare  me  for  a  couple  of  hours  ;  baby 
won  t  want  me  before  then.  I'm  very  anxious  about  my 
little  one." 

"  Oh,  nurse,  I  couldn't  possibly  hear  of  it ;  such  a  thing 
is  never  allow^ed.    You  can  write  to  the  woman,  if  you  like." 

"  I  do  not  know  how  to  write,  ma'am." 

''  Then  you  can  get  some  one  to  write  for  you.  But 
your  baby  is  no  doubt  all  right." 

"  But,  ma'am,  you  are  uneasy  about  your  baby  ;  you  are 
up  in  the  nursery  twenty  times  a  day  ;  it  is  only  natural  I 
should  be  uneasy  about  mine." 

''  But,  nurse,  I've  no  one  to  send  with  you." 

"  There  is  no  reason  why  anybody  should  go  with  me, 
ma'am  ;  I  can  take  care  of  myself" 

''  What !  let  you  go  off  all  the  way  to — where  did  you 
sa}^  you  had  left  it — Wandsworth  ? — by  yourself !     I  really 


ESTHER  WATERS  153 

couldn't  think  of  it.  I  don't  want  to  be  unnecessarily 
hard — but  I  really  couldn't  —  no  mother  could.  But  I 
don't  want  you  to  agitate  yourself,  and  if  you  like  I'll 
write  myself  to  the  woman  who  has  charge  of  your  baby. 
I  cannot  do  more,  and  I  hope  you'll  be  satisfied." 

By  what  right,  by  what  law,  was  she  separated  from  her 
child  ?  She  was  tired  of  hearing  Mrs.  Rivers  speak  of 
^'my  child,  my  child,  my  child,"  and  of  seeing  this  fine 
lady  turn  up  her  nose  when  she  spoke  of  her  own  beautiful 
boy.  And  when  Mrs.  Rivers  came  to  engage  her  she 
said  that  it  would  be  better  for  the  baby  to  be  brought 
to  see  her  every  three  or  four  weeks,  for  two  had  died 
already.  At  the  time  she  had  not  understood.  She  sup- 
posed vaguely,  in  a  passing  way,  that  Mrs.  Rivers  had 
already  lost  two  children.  But  yesterday  the  housemaid 
told  her  that  that  little  thing  in  the  cradle  had  had  two 
wet-nurses  before  Esther,  and  that  both  their  babies  had 
died.  It  was  then  a  life  for  a  life.  It  was  more.  For  the 
children  of  two  poor  girls  had  been  sacrificed  so  that  *^ 
this  rich  woman's  child  might  be  saved.  Even  that  was-^ 
not  enough,  the  life  of  her  beautiful  boy  was  called  for. 
And  then  other  memories  swept  by.  She  remembered 
vague  hints,  allusions  that  Mrs.  Spires  had  thrown  out ; 
and,  as  in  a  dream  darkly,  it  seemed  to  this  ignorant 
girl  that  she  was  the  victim  of  a  far-reaching  cons])iracy  ; 
she  experienced  the  sensation  of  the  captured  animal,  and 
scanned  the  doors  and  windows,  thinking  of  some  means 
of  escape. 

At  that  moment  a  knock  was  heard  and  the  housemaid 
came  in. 

^'  The  woman  who  has  charge  of  your  baby  has  come  to 
see  you." 

Esther  started  up  from  her  chair,  and  fat  little  Mrs. 
Spires  waddled  into  the  room,  the  ends  of  her  shawl 
touching  the  ground. 


154  ESTHER  WATERS 

"  Where  is  my  baby  ?"  said  Esther.  "  Why  haven't  you 
brought  him  ?' 

"  Why,  you  see,  my  dear,  the  sweet  Httle  thing  didn't 
seem  as  well  as  usual  this  afternoon,  and  1  didn't  like  to 
bring  'im  out,  it  being  a  long  way  and  a  trifle  cold.  But 
it  is  nice  and  warm  in  here.      May  I  sit  down .?" 

''  Yes,  there's  a  chair  ;  but  tell  me  what  is  the  matter 
with  him  V 

"A  little  cold,  dear — nothing  to  speak  of.  You  must 
not  worry  yourself,  it  isn't  worth  while ;  besides,  it's  bad 
for  you  and  the  little  darling  in  the  cradle.  May  I  have 
a  look  ?  A  little  girl,  isn't  it  .^" 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  girl." 

"  And  a  beautiful  little  girl  too.  "Ow  'ealthy  she  do 
look  !  I'll  be  bound  you  have  made  a  difference  in  her. 
I  suppose  you  are  beginning  to  like  her  just  as  if  she  was 
your  own  ?"' 

Esther  did  not  answer. 

"  Yer  know,  all  you  girls  are  dreadful  taken  with  your 
babies  at  first.  But  they  is  a  awful  dra^  on  a  girl  who  gets 
her  living  in  service.  For  my  part  1  do  think  it  providen- 
tial-like that  rich  folk  don't  suckle  their  own.  V  they  did, 
I  dunno  what  would  become  of  all  you  poor  girls.  The 
situation  of  wet-nurse  is  just  what  you  w^ants  at  the  time, 
and  it  is  good  money.  I  hope  yer  did  what  I  told  you 
and  stuck  out  for  a  pound  a  week.  Rich  folk  like  these 
'ere  would  think  nothing  of  a  pound  a  week,  nor  yet  two, 
when  they  sees  their  child  is  suited." 

"  Never  mind  about  my  money,  that's  my  affair.  Tell 
me  what's  the  matter  with  my  baby  ?" 

"  'Ow  yer  do  'arp  on  it !  I've  told  yer  that  'e's  all 
right ;  nothing  to  signify,  only  a  little  poorly,  but  know- 
ing you  was  that  anxious  I  thought  it  better  to  come  up. 
I  didn't  know  but  what  you  might  like  to  'ave  in  the 
doctor.*' 


ESTHER  WATERS  loo 

-'  Does  he  require  the  doctor  ?  I  thought  you  said  it 
was  nothing  to  signify." 

"That  depends  on  'ow  yer  looks  at  it.  Some  likes  to 
'ave  in  the  doctor,  however  little  the  ailing  ;  then  others 
won't  'ave  anything  to  do  with  doctors — don't  believe  in 
them.  So  I  thought  I'd  come  up  and  see  what  you 
thought  about  it.  I  would  'ave  sent  for  the  doctor  this 
morning — I'm  one  of  those  who  'as  faith  in  doctors — but 
being  a  bit  short  of  money  I  thought  I'd  come  up  and  ask 
you  for  a  trifle." 

At  that  moment  Mrs.  Rivers  came  into  the  nursery  and 
her  first  look  went  in  the  direction  of  the  cradle,  then  she 
turned  to  consider  curtseying  Mrs.  Spires. 

"  This  is  Mrs.  Spires,  the  lady  who  is  looking  after  my 
baby,  ma'am,"  said  Esther  ;  '^  she  has  come  with  bad  news 
— my  baby  is  ill." 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry.      But  I  daresay  it  is  nothing." 

"  But  Mrs.  Spires  says,  ma'am " 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  the  little  thing  seemed  a  bit  poorly,  and  I 
being  short  of  money,  ma'am,  I  had  to  come  and  see  nurse. 
I  knows  right  well  that  they  must  not  be  disturbed,  and 
of  course  your  child's  'ealth  is  everything ;  but  if  I  may 
make  so  bold  I'd  like  to  say  that  the  little  dear  do  look 
beautiful.  Nurse  is  bringing  her  up  that  well  that  yer 
must  have  every  satisfaction  in  'er." 

^'  Yes,  she  seems  to  suit  the  child  ;  that's  the  reason 
I  don't  want  her  upset." 

"It  won't  occur  again,  ma'am,  I  promise  you." 

Esther  did  not  answer,  and  her  white,  sullen  face 
remained  unchanged.  She  had  a  great  deal  on  her  mind, 
and  would  have  spoken  if  the  words  did  not  seem  to  betray 
her  when  she  attempted  to  speak. 

"  When  the  baby  is  well,  and  the  doctor  is  satisfied  there 
is  no  danger  of  infection,  you  can  bring  it  here — once  a 
month  will  be  sufficient.     Is  there  anything  more  ?'' 


156  ESTHER  WATERS 

"  Mrs.  Spires  thinks  my  baby  ought  to  see  the  doctor." 

'^  Well,  let  her  send  for  the  doctor." 

''  Being  a  bit  short  of  money " 

'  How  much  is  it  ?"  said  Esther. 

"  Well,  what  we  pays  is  five  shillings  to  the  doctor,  but 
then  there's  the  medicine  he  \\'ill  order,  and  I  was  going  to 
speak  to  you  about  a  piece  of  flannel :  if  yer  could  let  me 
have  ten  shillings  to  go  on  with." 

"  But  I  haven't  so  much  left.  1  must  see  my  baby,"  and 
Esther  moved  towards  the  door. 

"  No,  no,  nurse,  I  cannot  hear  of  it ;  I'd  sooner  pay  the 
money  myself.    Now,  how  much  do  you  want^  Mrs.  Spires  ?" 

"Ten  shillings  will  do  for  the  present,  ma'am." 

"  Here  they  are  ;  let  the  child  have  every  attendance, 
and  remember  you  are  not  to  come  troubling  my  nurse 
Above  all,  you  are  not  to  come  up  to  the  nursery.  I  don't 
know  how  it  happened,  it  was  a  mistake  on  the  part  of  the 
new  housemaid.  You  must  have  my  permission  before  you 
see  my  nurse."  And  while  talking  rapidly  and  imperatively 
Mrs.  Rivers,  as  it  were,  drove  Mrs.  Spires  out  of  the 
nursery.  Esther  could  hear  them  talking  on  the  staircase, 
and  she  listened,  all  the  while  striving  to  collect  her 
thoughts.  Mrs.  Rivers  said  when  she  returned,  "  I  really 
cannot  allow  her  to  come  here  upsetting  you."  Then,  as 
if  impressed  by  the  sombre  look  on  P^sther's  face,  she 
added :  "  Upsetting  you  about  nothing.  I  assure  you  it 
will  be  all  right ;  only  a  little  indisposition." 

"  I  must  see  my  baby,"  Esther  replied. 

"  Come,  nurse,  you  shall  see  your  baby  the  moment  the 
doctor  says  it  is  fit  to  come  here.  You  can't  expect  me  to 
do  more  than  that."  Esther  did  not  move,  and  thinking 
that  it  would  not  be  well  to  argue  with  her,  Mrs.  Rivers 
went  over  to  the  cradle.  "See,  nurse,  the  little  darling 
has  ji.st  woke  up  ;  come  and  take  her,  I'm  sure  she  wants 
you." 


ESTHER  WATERS  157 

Esther  did  not  answer  her.  She  stood  looking  into  space, 
and  it  seemed  to  Mrs.  Rivers  that  it  would  be  better  not  to 
provoke  a  scene.  She  went  towards  the  door  slowly,  but  a 
little  cry  from  the  cradle  stopped  her,  and  she  said  : 

"Come,  nurse,  what  is  it?  Come,  the  baby  is  waiting 
for  you." 

Then,  Uke  one  waking  from  a  dream,  Esther  said :  "  If 
my  baby  is  all  right,  ma'am,  I'll  come  back,  but  if  he  wants 
me,  I'll  have  to  look  after  him  first." 

"  You  forget  that  I'm  paying  you  fifteen  shillings  a  week. 
I  pay  you  for  nursing  my  baby ;  you  take  my  money,  that's 
sufficient. 

"Yes,  I  do  take  your  money,  ma'am.  But  the  house- 
maid has  told  me  that  you  had  two  wet-nurses  before  me, 
and  that  both  their  babies  died,  so  I  cannot  stop  here  now 
that  mine's  ill.  Everyone  for  her  own  ;  you  can't  blame  me. 
I'm  sorry  for  yours — poor  little  thing,  she  was  getting  on 
nicely,  too." 

"  But,  Waters,  you  won't  leave  my  baby.  It's  cruel  of 
you.     If  I  could  nurse  it  myself " 

"  Why  couldn't  you,  ma'am  ?  You  look  fairly  strong  and 
healthy." 

Esther  spoke  in  her  quiet,  stolid  way,  finding  her  words 
unconsciously. 

"  You  don't  know  what  you're  saying,  nurse  ;  you  can't. 
You've  forgotten  yourself.  Next  time  I  engage  a  nurse  I'll 
try  to  get  one  w  ho  has  lost  her  baby,  and  then  there'll  be 
no  bother." 

"  It  is  a  life  for  a  life — more  than  that,  ma'am — two 
lives  for  a  life  ;  and  now  the  life  of  my  boy  is  asked  for." 

A  strange  look  passed  over  Mrs.  Rivers'  face.  She 
knew,  of  course,  that  she  stood  well  within  the  law,  that 
she  was  doing  no  more  than  a  hundred  other  fashionable 
women  were  doing  at  the  same  moment ;  but  this  plain 
girl  had  a  plain  way  of  putting  things,  and  she  did  not  care 


158  ESTHER  WATERS 

for  it  to  be  publicly  known  that  the  life  of  her  child  had 
been  bought  with  the  lives  of  two  poor  children.  But  her 
temper  was  getting  the  better  of  her. 

"  He'll  only  be  a  drag  on  you.  You'll  never  be  able  to 
bring  him  up,  poor  little  bastard  child." 

"  It  is  wicked  of  you  to  speak  like  that,  ma'am,  though  it 
is  I  who  am  saying  it.  It  is  none  of  the  child's  fault  if  he 
hasn't  got  a  father,  nor  is  it  right  that  he  should  be 
deserted  for  that,  and  it  is  not  for  you  to  tell  me  to 
do  such  a  thing.  If  you  had  made  sacrifice  of  yourself  in 
the  beginning  and  nursed  your  own  child  such  thoughts 
wouldn't  have  come  to  you.  But  when  you  hire  a  poor  girl 
such  as  me  to  give  the  milk  that  belongs  to  another  to  your 
child,  you  think  nothing  of  the  poor  deserted  one.  He 
is  but  a  bastard,  you  say,  and  had  better  be  dead  and 
done  with.  I  see  it  all  now  ;  I  have  been  thinking  it  out. 
It  is  all  so  hidden  up  that  the  meaning  is  not  clear  at  first, 
but  what  it  comes  to  is  this,  that  fine  folks  like  lou  pays 
the  money,  and  Mrs.  Spires  and  her  like  gets  rid  of  the 
poor  little  things.  Change  the  milk  a  few  times,  a  little 
^  /  neglect,  and  the  poor  servant  girl  is  spared  the  trouble  of 
bringing  up  her  baby  and  can  make  a  handsome  child 
of  the  rich  woman's  little  starveling." 

At  that  moment  the  baby  began  to  cry ;  both  women 
looked  in  the  direction  of  the  cradle. 

'^  Nurse,  you  have  forgotten  yourself;  you  have  talked 
a  great  deal  of  nonsense,  you  have  said  a  great  deal  that 
is  untrue.  You  accused  me  of  wishing  your  baby  were 
dead ;  indeed,  I  hardly  know  w  hat  wild  remarks  you  did 
not  indulge  in.  Of  course,  I  cannot  put  up  with  such 
conduct — to-morrow  you  will  come  to  me  and  apologise. 
In  the  meantime  the  baby  wants  you ;  are  you  not  going 
to  her.''" 

"  I'm  going  to  my  own  child." 

"  That  means  that  you  refuse  to  nurse  my  baby  ?" 


ESTHER  WATERS  15.9 

'^  Yes ;  I'm  going  straight  to  look  after  my  own." 

"  If  you  leave  my  house  you  shall  never  enter  it  again." 

"  I  don't  want  to  enter  it  again." 

"  I  shall  not  pay  you  one  shilling  if  you  leave  my  baby. 
You  have  no  money." 

"  I  shall  try  to  manage  without.  I  shall  go  with  my 
baby  to  the  workhouse.  However  bad  the  living  may  be 
there,  he'll  be  with  his  mother." 

"If  you  go  to-night  my  baby  will  die.  She  cannot  be 
brought  up  on  the  bottle." 

''  0\\,  I  hope  not,  ma'am.  I  should  be  sorry,  indeed  I 
should." 

^' Then  stay,  nurse." 

"  I  must  go  to  my  baby,  ma'am." 

"Then  you  shall  go  at  once — this  very  instant." 

"I'm  going  this  very  instant,  as  soon  as  I've  put  on  my 
hat  and  jacket." 

"  You  had  better  take  your  box  with  you.  If  you  don't, 
I  shall  have  it  thrown  into  the  street." 

"  I  dare  say  you're  cruel  enough  to  do  that  if  the  law 
allows  you,  only  be  careful  that  it  do." 


XIX. 

The  moment  Esther  got  out  of  the  house  in  Curzon  Street 
she  felt  in  her  pocket  for  her  money.  She  had  only  a  few 
pence — enough  for  her  bus  fare,  however,  and  her  thoughts 
did  not  go  farther.  She  was  absorbed  by  one  desire, 
how  to  save  her  child — how  to  save  him  from  Mrs.  Spires, 
whom  she  vaguely  suspected  ;  from  the  world,  which  called 
him  a  bastard,  and  denied  to  him  the  right  to  live.  And 
she  sat  as  if  petrified  in  the  corner  of  the  bus,  seeing 
nothing  but  a  little  street  of  four  houses  facing  some  hay- 


160  ESTHER  WATERS 

lofts,  the  low-pitclied  kitchen,  the  fat  woman,  the  cradle 
in  the  corner.  The  intensity  and  the  oneness  of  her  desire 
seemed  to  annihilate  time,  and  when  she  got  out  of  the 
omnibus  she  walked  with  a  sort  of  animal-like  instinct 
straight  for  the  house.  There  was  a  light  in  the  kitchen 
just  as  she  expected,  and  as  she  descended  the  four  wooden 
steps  into  the  area  she  looked  to  see  if  Mrs.  Spires  was 
there.     wShe  was  there,  and  Esther  pushed  open  the  door. 

"  WTiere's  my  baby?" 

"Lord,  'ow  yer  did  frighten  me!"  said  Mrs.  Spires, 
turning  from  the  range  and  leaning  against  the  table, 
which  was  laid  for  supper.  "  Coming  like  that  into  other 
folk's  places  without  a  word  of  warning — without  as  much 
as  knocking  at  the  door." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  was  that  anxious  about  my 
baby." 

"  Was  you  indeed  ?  It  is  easy  to  see  it  is  the  first  one. 
There  it  is  in  the  cradle  there." 

"  Have  you  sent  for  the  doctor?" 

"  Sent  for  the  doctor  !    I've  to  get  my  husband's  supper." 

Esther  took  her  baby  out  of  the  cradle.  It  woke  up 
crying,  and  Esther  said :  "  You  don't  mind  my  sitting 
down  a  moment.     The  poor  little  thing  wants  its  mother." 

"  If  Mrs.  Rivers  saw  you  now  a-nursing  of  yer  baby  ?" 

"1  shouldn't  care  if  she  did.  He's  thinner  than  when 
I  left  him ;  ten  days  'ave  made  a  difference  in  him." 

"  W^ell,  yer  don't  expect  a  child  to  do  as  well  without 
its  mother  as  with  her.  But  tell  me,  how  did  yer  get  out  ? 
You  must  have  come  away  shortly  after  me." 

"I  wasn't  going  to  stop  there  and  my  child  ill." 

"Yer  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  yer  'ave  gone  and 
thrown  hup  the  situation  ?" 

"  She  told  me,  if  I  went  out,  I  should  never  enter  her 
door  again." 

"  And  what  did  you  say  ?" 


ESTHER  WATERS  l6l 

"Told  her  I  didn't  want  to." 

"  And  what,  may  I  ask,  are  yer  thinking  of  doing  ?  I 
eard  yer  say  yer  'ad  no  money." 

"I  don't  know." 

"  Take  my  advice,  and  go  straight  back  and  ask  'er  to 
overlook  it,  this  once." 

"  Oh  no,  she'd  never  take  me  back." 

''  Yes,  she  will.  You  suits  the  child,  and  that's  all  they 
thinks  of." 

"  I  don't  know  what  will  become  of  me  and  my  baby." 

''No  more  don't  I.  Yer  can't  stop  always  in  the 
work'us,  and  a  baby'll  be  a  'eavy  drag  on  you.  Can't  you 
lay  'ands  on  'is  father  some'ow  ?" 

Esther  shook  her  head,  and  Mrs.  Spires  noticed  that  she 
was  crying. 

"I'm  all  alone,"  she  said;  "I  don't  know 'ow  I'm  ever 
to  pull  through." 

"  Not  with  that  child,  yer  won't — it  ain't  possible.  You 
girls  is  all  alike  ;  yer  thinks  of  nothing  but  yer  babies  for 
the  first  few  weeks,  then  yer  tires  of  them,  the  drag  on 
yer  is  that  'eavy — I  knows  yer — and  then  yer  begins  to 
wish  they  'ad  never  been  born,  or  yer  wishes  they  had 
died  afore  they  knew  they  was  alive.  I  don't  say  I'm  not 
often  sorry  for  them,  poor  little  dears,  but  they  takes  less 
notice  than  you'd  think  for,  and  they  is  better  out  of  the 
way,  they  really  is ;  it  saves  a  lot  of  trouble  hereafter.  I 
often  do  think  that  to  neglect  them,  to  let  them  go  off 
quiet,  that  I  be  their  best  friend ;  not  wilful  neglect,  yer 
know,  but  what  is  a  woman  to  do  with  ten  or  a  dozen,  and 
I  often  'as  as  many?     I  am  sure  they'd  thank  me  for  it." 

Esther  did  not  answer,  but  judging  by  her  face  that 
she  had  lost  all  hope,  Mrs.  Spires  was  tempted  to 
continue. 

"There's  that  other  baby  in  the  far  corner  that  was 
brought  'ere   since  you    was   'ere    by  a  servant-girl  like 

M 


1^ 


162  ESTHER  WATERS 

yerself.  She's  out  a-nursing  of  a  lady's  child,  getting  a 
pound  a  week,  just  as  you  was.  Well,  now,  I  asks  'ow  she 
can  'ope  to  bring  up  that  'ere  child — a  weakly  little  thing 
that  wants  the  doctor  and  all  sorts  of  looking  after.  If 
that  child  was  to  live,  it  would  be  the  ruin  of  that  girl's 
life.     Don't  yer  'ear  what  I'm  saying?" 

''  Yes,  I  hear,"  said  Esther,  speaking  like  one  in  a 
dream;  ^*^ don't  she  care  for  her  baby,  then?" 

^'  She  used  to  care  for  them,  but  if  they  had  all  lived  I 
should  like  to  know  where  she'd  be.  There  'as  been  three 
of  them — that's  the  third — so,  instead  of  them  a-costing  'er 
money,  they  brings  'er  money.  She  'as  never  failed  ^et  to 
suit  'erself  in  a  situation  as  wet-nurse." 
^^And  they  all  died.?" 

"  Yes,  they  all  died ;  and  this  little  one  don't  look  as  if 
it  was  long  for  the  world,  do  it?"  said  Mrs.  Spires,  who 
fhad  taken  the  infant  from  the  cradle ;  and  Esther  looked 
;at  the  poor  wizened  features,  twitched  with  pain. 

''  It  goes  to  my  'eart,"  said  Mrs.  Spires,  "  it  do  indeed 
but.  Lord,  it  is  the  best  that  could  'appen  to  'em ;  who's 
to  care  for  'em  ?  and  there  is  'undreds  and  'undreds  of 
them — ay,  thousands  and  thousands  every  year — and  they 
all  dies  like  the  early  shoots.  It  is  ard,  very  'ard,  poor 
^  little  dears,  but  they  is  best  out  of  the  way — they  is  only 
an  expense  and  a  disgrace." 

Mrs.  Spires  talked  on  in  a  rapid,  soothing,  soporific 
voice.  She  had  just  finished  pouring  some  milk  in  the 
\ baby's  bottle  and  had  taken  down  a  jug  of  water  from  the 
1  dresser. 

"  But  that's  cold  water,"  said  Esther,  waking  from  the 
stupor  of  her  despair  ;  "  it  will  give  the  baby  gripes  for 
certain." 

"  I've  no  'ot  water  ready  ;  I'll  let  the  bottle  stand  afore 
the  fire,  that'll  do  as  well."  Watching  Esther  all  the 
while,  Mrs.  Spires  held  the  bottle  a  few  moments  before 


ESTHER  WATERS  \63 

the  fire,  and  then  gave  it  to  the  child  to  suck.  Very  soon 
after  a  cry  of  pain  came  from  the  cradle. 

''  The  little  dear  never  was  well ;  it  wouldn't  surprise 
me  a  bit  if  it  died — went  off  before  morning.  It  do  look 
that  poorly.  One  can't  'elp  being  sorry  for  them,  though 
one  knows  there  is  no  'ouse  for  them  'ere.  Poor  little 
angels,  and  not  even  baptised.  There's  them  that  thinks 
a  lot  of  getting  that  over.  But  who's  to  baptise  the  little 
angels  ?" 

"  Baptise  them  ?"  Esther  repeated.  ^^  That's  not  the 
way  with  the  Lord's  people ;"  and  to  escape  from  a  too 
overpowering  reality  she  continued  to  repeat  the  half- 
forgotten  patter  of  the  Brethren,  "  You  must  wait  until  it 
is  a  symbol  of  living  faith  in  the  Lord  !"  And  taking 
the  baby  in  her  hands  for  a  moment,  the  wonder  crossed 
her  mind  whether  he  would  ever  grow  up  and  find 
salvation  and  testify  to  the  Lord  as  an  adult  in  voluntary 
baptism. 

All  the  while  Mrs.  Spires  was  getting  on  with  her 
cooking.  Several  times  she  looked  as  if  she  were  going  to 
speak,  and  several  times  she  checked  herself.  In  truth, 
she  didn't  know  what  to  make  of  Esther.  Was  her  love  of 
her  child  such  love  as  would  enable  her  to  put  up  with  all 
hardships  for  its  sake,  or  was  it  the  fleeting  affection  of  the 
ordinary  young  mother,  which,  though  ardent  at  first,  gives 
way  under  difficulties  ?  Mrs.  Spires  had  heard  many 
mothers  talk  as  Esther  talked,  but  when  the  real  strain  of 
life  was  put  upon  them  they  had  yielded  to  the  temptation 
of  ridding  themselves  of  their  burdens.  So  Mrs.  Spires 
could  not  believe  that  Esther  was  really  different  from  the 
others,  and  if  carefully  handled  she  would  do  what  the 
others  had  done.  Still,  there  was  something  in  Esther 
which  kept  Mrs.  Spires  from  making  any  distinct  proposal. 
But  it  were  a  pity  to  let  the  girl  slip  through  her  fingers 
■ — five  pounds  were  not  picked  up  every  day.     There  were 


164  ESTHER  WATERS 

three  five-pound  notes  in  tlie  cradles  ;  if  Esther  would 
listen  to  reason  there  would  be  twenty  pounds.  And  once 
more  greed  set  Mrs.  Spires'  tongue  flowing,  and,  represent- 
ing herself  as  a  sort  of  guardian  angel,  she  spoke  again 
about  the  mother  of  the  dying  child,  pressing  Esther  to 
think  what  the  girl's  circumstances  would  have  been  if  all 
her  babies  had  lived. 

"  And  they  all  died  .^"  said  Esther. 

"  Yes,  and  a  good  job,  too,"  said  Mrs.  Spires,  whose 
temper  for  the  moment  outsped  her  discretion.  Was  this 
penniless  drab  doing  it  on  purpose  to  annoy  her  ?  A  nice 
one  indeed  to  high-and-mighty  it  over  her.  She  would  show 
her  in  mighty  quick  time  she  had  come  to  the  wrong  shop. 
Just  as  Mrs.  Spires  was  about  to  speak  out  she  noticed  that 
Esther  was  in  tears.  Mrs.  Spires  always  looked  upon  tears 
as  a  good  sign,  so  she  resolved  to  give  her  one  more  chance. 
"What  are  you  crying  about?"  she  said. 

"  Oh,"  said  Esther,  "  I  don't  even  know  where  I  shall 
sleep  to-night.  I  have  only  threepence,  and  not  a  friend 
in  the  world." 

"  Now  look  'ere,  if  you'll  listen  to  reason  I'll  talk  to  you. 
Yer  mustn't  look  upon  me  as  a  henemy.  I've  been  a 
good  friend  to  many  a  poor  girl  like  you  afore  now, 
and  ril  be  one  to  you  if  you're  sensible  like.  I'll  do 
for  you  what  I'm  doing  for  the  other  girl.  Give  me 
five  pounds " 

"  Five  pounds  !     I've  only  a  few  pence." 

"  'Ear  me  out.  Go  back  to  yer  situation — she'll  take 
you  back :  yer  suits  the  child,  that's  all  she  cares  about. 
Ask  'er  for  an  advance  of  five  pounds  ;  she'll  give  it  when 
she  'ears  it  is  to  get  rid  of  yer  child.  They  'ates  their 
nurses  to  be  a-'ankering  after  their  own ;  they  likes  them 
to  be  forgotten  like ;  they  asks  if  the  child  is  dead  very 
often,  and  won't  engage  them  if  it  isn't.  So  believe  me 
she'll  give  yer  the  money  when  yer  tells  'er  that  it  is  to 


ESTHER  WATERS  l65 

give  the  child  to  someone  who  wants  to  adopt  it.     That's 
what  you  'as  to  say." 

"  And  you'll  take  the  child  off  my  hands  for  ever  for  five 
pounds?" 

"•  Yes  ;  and  if  you  likes  to  go  out  again  as  wet-nurse,  I'll 
take  the  second  off  yer  'ands  too,  and  at  the  same  price." 

"  You  wicked  woman  !     Oh,  this  is  awful !" 

"  Come,  come.  What  do  you  mean  by  talking  to  me 
like  that  ?  And  because  I  offered  to  find  someone  who 
would  adopt  your  child." 

"  You  did  nothing  of  the  kind  ;  ever  since  I've  been  in 
your  house  you  have  been  trying  to  get  me  to  give  you  up 
my  child  to  murder  as  you  are  murdering  those  })Oor  inno- 
cents in  the  cradles." 

"  It  is  a  lie,  but  I  don't  want  no  hargument  with  yer  ;  j)ay 
me  what  you  owe  me  and  take  yerself  hoff.  I  want  no 
more  of  yer,  do  you  'ear  ?" 

Esther  did  not  shrink  before  her  as  Mrs.  Spires  ex})ected. 
Clasping  her  baby  more  lightly,  she  said  :  '^  I've  paid  you 
what  1  owe  you  ;  you've  had  more  than  your  due.  Mrs. 
Rivers  gave  you  ten  shillings  for  a  doctor  which  you  didn't 
send  for.     Let  me  go." 

'*  Yes,  when  yer  pays  me." 

"  What's  all  this  row  about  ?"  said  a  tall,  red-bearded 
man  who  had  just  come  in  ;  "  no  one  takes  their  babies 
out  of  this  'ere  'ouse  before  they  pays.  Come  now,  come 
now,  who  are  yer  getting  at  ?  If  yer  thinks  yer  can  come 
here  insulting  of  my  wife,  yer  mistaken  ;  yer've  come  to 
the  wrong  shop." 

"  I've  paid  all  I  owe,''  said  Esther.  "  You've  no  better 
than  murderers,  but  yer  shan't  have  my  poor  babe  to 
murder  for  a  five-pound  note." 

"Take  back  them  words,  or  else  I'll  do  for  yer;  take 
them  back,"  he  said,  raising  his  fist. 

"  Help,  help,  murder !"  Esther   screamed.     Before   the 


166  ESTHER  WATERS 

brute  could  seize  her  she  slipped  past,  but  before  she 
could  scream  again  he  laid  hand  on  her  at  the  door. 
Esther  thought  her  last  moment  had  come. 

^'  Let  *er  go,  let  'er  go  !"  cried  Mrs.  Spires,  clinging  to  her 
husband's  arm,     "  We  don't  want  the  perlice  in  'ere." 

"  Perlice  !  What  do  I  care  about  the  perlice  ?  Let  'er 
pay  what  she  owes.'' 

''  Never  mind,  Tom  ;  it  is  only  a  trifle.  Let  her  go. 
Now  then,  take  yer  hook,"  she  said,  turning  to  Esther ; 
"  we  don't  want  nothing  to  do  with  such  as  you." 

With  a  growl  the  man  loosed  his  hold,  and  feeling  her- 
self free  Esther  rushed  into  the  area  and  up  the  wooden 
steps.  Some  men  drinking  in  a  public-house  frightened  her 
and  she  ran  on  again,  and  to  avoid  the  cabmen  and  the 
loafers  in  the  next  street  she  hastily  crossed  to  the  other 
side.  Her  heart  beat  violently,  her  thoughts  were  in 
disorder,  and  she  walked  on  and  on,  stopping  to  ask  the 
way,  and  then  remembered  there  was  no  whither  she 
might  go  unless  the  workhouse,  no  matter,  any  whither. 
All  sorts  of  thoughts  came  upon  her  unsought  till  she 
came  to  the  river,  and  saw  vast  water  rolling.  Was  she  to 
die,  she  and  her  child  ?  Why  she  more  than  the  next 
one  ?  W' hy  not  go  to  the  workhouse  for  the  night }  She 
didn't  mind  for  herself,  only  she  did  not  wish  her  boy  to 
go  there.     But  if  God  willed  it.  .   .  .'' 

She  drew  her  shawl  about  her  baby  and  tried  once  more 
to  persuade  herself  into  accepting  the  shelter  of  the  work- 
house. It  seemed  strange  even  to  her  that  a  pale,  glassy 
moon  should  float  high  up  in  the  sky,  and  that  she  should 
suffer  ;  and  then  she  looked  at  the  lights  that  fell  into  the 
river  from  the  Surrey  shore,  and  wondered  what  had  she 
done  to  deserve  the  workhouse  ?  and  of  all,  what  had  the 
poor,  innocent  child  done  to  deserve  it  ?  If  she  once 
entered  the  workhouse  she  would  remain  there.  She 
and  her  child  paupers  for  ever.     "  But  what  can  i  do  }" 


ESTHER  WATERS  l67 

she  asked   herself  crazily,   and  sat  down  on  one  of  the 
seats, 

A  young  man  coming  home  from  an  evening  party 
looked  at  her  as  he  passed,  and  she  asked  herself  if  she 
should  run  after  him  and  tell  him  her  story.  Why  should 
he  not  assist  her  ?  He  could  so  easily  spare  it.  Would 
he  ?  But  before  she  could  decide  to  appeal  to  him  he  had 
called  a  passing  hansom  and  was  soon  far  away.  Then 
looking  at  the  windows  of  the  great  hotels,  she  thought  of 
the  folk  there  who  could  so  easily  save  her  from  the  work- 
house if  they  knew.  There  must  be  many  a  kind  heart 
behind  those  windows  who  would  help  her  if  she  could 
only  make  known  her  trouble.  But  that  was  the  hardship. 
She  could  not  make  known  her  trouble  ;  she  could  not 
tell  the  misery.     She  couldn't  understand  it  herself;  why 

had  it  all  come  about  she  didn't  know,  for,  after  all 

Her  thoughts  melted  away  and  when  she  returned  to  her- 
self she  was  thinking  that  she  would  be  mistaken  for  a 
common  beggar.  Nowhere  would  she  find  anyone  to 
listen  to  her,  and  in  the  delirium  of  her  misery  she  asked 
herself  would  it  not  have  been  better,  perhaps,  if  she 
had  left  him  with  Mrs.  Spires.  Wliat  indeed  had  the  poor 
little  fellow  to  live  for  ?  A  young  man  in  evening  dress 
came  towards  her,  looking  so  happy  and  easy  in  life,  walk- 
ing v/ith  long,  swinging  strides.  He  stopped  and  asked 
her  if  she  was  out  for  a  walk. 

"  No,  sir ;  I'm  out  because  I've  no  place  to  go." 
^^  How's  that?" 

She  told  him  the  story  of  the  baby-farmer  and  he 
Hstened  kindly,  and  she  thought  the  needful  miracle  was 
about  to  happen.  But  he  only  complimented  her  on  her 
pluck  and  got  up  to  go.  Then  she  understood  that  he  did 
not  care  to  listen  to  sad  stories,  and  a  vagrant  came  and 
sat  down. 

^•'The    ^copper;*"    he    said,    "will    be    moving    us    on 


168  ESTHER  WATERS 

presently.  It  don't  much  matter ;  it's  too  cold  to  get  to 
sleep^  and  I  think  it  will  rain.     My  cough  is  that  bad." 

She  might  beg  a  night's  lodging  of  Mrs.  Jones.  But  it 
was  so  far  awa}^  that  she  didn't  think  she  could  walk  so  far. 
Mrs.  Jones  might  have  left,  then  what  w^ould  she  do  ?  The 
workhouse  up  there  was  much  the  same  as  the  workhouse 
down  here.  Mrs.  Jones  couldn't  keep  her  for  nothing, 
and  there  was  no  use  trying  for  another  situation  as  wet- 
nurse  ;  the  hospital  would  not  recommend  her  again.  So 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  the  workhouse.  Her  thoughts 
melted  away,  and  she  had  been  so  near  to  sleep  that  it 
was  almost  a  surprise  to  her  to  find  herself  on  the 
Embankment.  Her  father,  brothers,  and  sisters  were  on 
their  w^ay  to  Australia.  But  there  was  no  use  thinking  of 
them,  she  and  her  baby  were  on  their  way  to  the  work- 
house, going  to  become  paupers.  .  .  .  The  vagrant  had 
fallen  asleep.  He  knew  all  about  the  workhouse — should 
she  ask  him  what  it  was  like  ?  He,  too,  was  friendless. 
If  he  had  a  friend  he  would  not  be  sleeping  on  the 
Embankment.  Should  she  ask  him  ?  Poor  chap,  he  was 
asleep.      People  were  happy  when  they  were  asleep. 

A  full  moon  floated  high  up  in  the  sky,  and  the  city  was 
no  more  than  a  faint  shadow  on  the  glassy  stillness  of  the 
night ;  and  she  longed  to  float  away  with  the  moon  out 
of  sight  of  this  world.  Her  baby  grew  heavy  in  her  arms, 
and  tiie  vagrant,  a  bundle  of  rags  thrown  forward  in  a  heap, 
slept  at  the  other  end  of  the  bench.  But  she  could  not 
sleep,  and  the  moon  whirled  on  her  miserable  way.  At 
last  the  glassy  stillness  was  broken  by  the  measured  tramp 
of  the  policeman  going  his  rounds,  and  in  reply  to  her 
inquiry  he  directed  her  to  Lambeth  Workhouse.  As  she 
w^alked  away  she  heard  him  rousing  the  vagrant  and 
bidding  him  move  onward. 


ESTHER  WATERS  l69 


XX. 

Those  who  came  to  the  workhouse  for  servants  never 
offered  more  than  fourteen  pounds  a  year,  and  these  wages 
would  not  pay  for  her  baby's  keep  out  at  nurse.  Her 
friend  the  matron  did  all  she  could,  but  it  was  always 
fourteen  pounds,  till  at  last  an  offer  of  sixteen  pounds  a  3'^ear 
came  from  a  tradesman  in  Chelsea  ;  and  the  matron  intro- 
duced Esther  to  Mrs.  Lewis,  a  lonely  widowed  woman,  who 
for  five  shillings  a  week  would  undertake  to  look  after  the 
child. 

What  luck  ! 

The  shop  was  placed  at  a  street  corner,  and  twelve  feet 
of  fronting  on  the  King's  Road,  and  more  than  half  that 
amount  on  the  side  street,  exposed  to  every  view  wall 
papers  and  stained  glass  designs.  The  dwelling-house  wa,s 
over  the  shop  ;  and  the  Bingleys  were  Dissenters  who 
exacted  the  uttermost  farthing  from  their  customers  and 
their  workpeople.  Mrs.  Bingley  spoke  in  a  sour,  resolute 
voice,  when  she  came  down  in  a  wrapper  to  superintend 
the  cooking,  but  on  Sundays,  she  wore  a  black  satinj, 
fastened  with  a  cameo  brooch7and  then  her  manners  were 
lofty.  When  her  husband  called  "  Mother,"  she  answered 
testily,  ^'  Don't  keep  on  mothering  me,"  overlooking  Mr. 
Bingley 's  ill-fitting  frock-coat.  On  week  days  he  wore  a 
short  jacket,  and  every  day  a  ring  of  discoloured  hair, 
neither  brown  nor  red,  but  the  neutral  tint  that  hair  which 
does  not  turn  grey  acquires  under  his  chin.  When  he 
spoke  he  opened  his  mouth  wide,  and  seemed  quite  un 
ashamed  of  the  empty  spaces  and  the  three  or  four  yellow 
fangs  that  remained. 

John,  the  elder  of  the  two  brothers,  a  silent  youth, 
whose  one  passion  seemed  to  be  eavesdropping,  hung 
round  doors  in  the  hopes  of  overhearing  his  sister's  con- 


170  ESTHER  WATERS 

versation  and  if  he  heard  Esther  and  the  little  girl  who 
helped  Esther  in  her  work  talking  in  the  kitchen^  he 
would  steal  cautiousl}^  halfway  down  the  stairs.  Esther 
often  thought  that  his  young  woman  must  be  sadly  in 
want  of  a  sweetheart  to  take  on  with  one  such  as  he. 
"  Come  along^  Amy/'  he  would  cry,  passing  out  before 
her  ;  never  thinking  even  at  the  end  of  a  long  walk  to 
offer  her  his  arm ;  and  they  came  strolling  home  just  like 
boy  and  girl. 

Hubert;  John's  younger  brother,  was  quite  different 
having  escaped  the  family  temperament,  as  he  had  escaped 
the  family  upper  lip,  and  Esther  liked  to  hear  him  call 
back  to  his  mother,  "All  right,  mother,  I've  got  the  key; 
no  one  need  wait  up  for  me.     I'll  make  the  door  fast." 

"  Oh,  Hubert,  don't  be  later  than  eleven.  You're  not 
going  out  dancing  again,  are  you  ?  Your  father  will  have 
the  electric  bell  put  on  the  door,  so  that  he  may  know 
when  you  come  in." 

The  four  girls  were  all  ruddy-complexioned  and  the 
eldest,  the  plainest,  kept  her  father's  books,  and  made  the 
pastry.  The  second  and  third  did  not  look  upon  themselves 
as  unmarriageable  :  but  the  youngest  was  subject  to 
hysterics,  fits  of  some  kind. 

The  house  the  Bingleys  lived  in  reproduced  the  taste 
they  had  imposed  upon  the  neighbourhood — a  staircase 
covered  with  white  drugget,  with  white  enamelled  walls 
kept  scrupulously  clean,  a  drawing-room  furnished  with 
substantial  tables,  cabinets  and  chairs,  and  antimacassars, 
long  and  wide,  china  ornaments  and  glass  vases.  The 
drawing-room  was  used  only  on  Sundays.  The  family 
retired  thither  and  hymns  were  played  by  one  of  the 
young  ladies,  the  entire  family  joining  in  the  chorus. 

And   it   was    into    this    house    that   Esther   entered    as 
general  servant,  with  wages  fixed  at  sixteen  pounds  a  year 
and  for  seventeen  long  hours  every  day,  for  two  hundred 


ESTHER  WATERS  171 

and  thirty  hours  every  fortnight^  she  washed,  she  scrubbed, 
she  cooked,  she  ran  errands,  with  never  a  moment  that 
she  might  call  her  own.  She  was  allowed  every  second 
Sunday  out  for  four,  perhaps  for  four  and  a  half  hours  ; 
the  time  fixed  was  from  tliree  to  nine,  but  she  was  expected 
to  be  back  in  time  to  get  the  supper  ready,  and  if  it  were 
many  minutes  later  than  nine  there  were  complaints.  On 
entering  this  service  she  had  no  money  and  few  clothes. 
Her  quarter's  wages  would  not  be  due  for  another  fort- 
night, and  as  they  did  not  coincide  with  her  Sunday  out, 
she  would  not  see  her  baby  for  another  three  weeks,  and  a 
great  longing  was  in  her  heart  to  clasp  him  in  her  arms 
again,  to  feel  his  soft  cheek  against  hers,  to  take  his  warm, 
chubby  legs  and  fat  feet  in  her  hands.  The  four  lovely 
hours  of  liberty  would  slip  by  too  quickly.  But  to  get 
them  she  must  pawn  her  dress — the  only  decent  dress  she 
had  left.  No  matter,  she  must  see  the  child.  She  would 
be  able  to  get  the  dress  out  of  pawn  when  she  was  paid 
her  wages.  Then  she  would  have  to  buy  herself  a  pair  of 
boots  ;  and  she  owed  Mrs.  Lewis  a  lot  of  money.  For  five 
shillings  a  week  came  to  thirteen  pounds  a  year,  which 
left  her  three  a  year  for  boots  and  clothes,  journeys  back 
and  forward,  and  everything  the  baby  might  want.  It 
was  not  to  be  done — she  never  would  be  able  to  pull 
through.  As  for  the  dress,  on  second  thoughts  she  didn't 
dare  to  pawn  it,  for  if  she  did  she'd  never  be  able  to  get 
it  out  again.  At  that  moment  something  bright  lying  on 
the  floor,  under  the  basin-stand,  caught  her  eye.  It  was 
half-a-crown,  and  as  the  temptation  came  into  her  heart  to 
steal,  she  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  round  the  room. 

She  was  in  John's  room — in  the  sneak's  room.  No  one 
was  about.  She  would  have  cut  off  one  of  her  fingers  for 
the  coin.  That  half-crown  meant  pleasure  and  a  happiness 
so  tender  and  seductive  that  she  closed  her  eyes  for  a 
moment.      The   hidf-crown    she    held   between  forefinger 


172  ESTHER  WATERS 

and  thumb  presented  a  ready  solution  of  the  besetting 
hardship  of  her  wages.  She  threw  out  the  insidious 
temptation,  but  it  came  quickly  upon  her  again.  If  she 
didn't  take  the  half-crown  she  wouldn't  be  able  to  go  to 
Peckham  on  Sunday.  She  could  replace  the  money  where 
she  found  it  when  she  was  paid  her  wages.  No  one  knew 
it  was  there  ;  it  had  evidently  rolled  there,  and  having 
tumbled  between  the  carpet  and  the  wall^  had  not  been 
discovered,  it  had  probably  lain  there  for  months,  perhaps 
it  was  utterly  forgotten.  Besides,  she  need  not  take  it  now. 
It  would  be  quite  safe  if  she  put  it  back  in  its  place ;  on 
Sunday  afternoon  she  would  take  it,  and  if  she  changed  it 

at  once It  was  not  marked.     She   examined  it  all 

over.  No,  it  was  not  marked.  Then  the  desire  paused, 
.  and  she  wondered  how  she,  an  honest  girl,  who  had  never 
"1^ harboured  a  dishonest  thought  in  her  life  before,  could 
\'    desire  to  steal,  and  a  loathly  shame  fell  upon  her. 

It  was  a  case  of  flying  from  temptation,  and  she  left  the 
room  so  hurriedly  that  John,  who  was  spying  in  the  passage, 
had  not  time  either  to  slip  downstairs  or  to  hide  in  his 
brother's  room. 

"  Oh,  I  beg  pardon,  sir,  but  1  found  this  half-crown  in 
your  room." 

"Well,  there's  nothing  wonderful  in  that.  What  are 
you  so  agitated  about  ?  I  suppose  you  intended  to  return 
it  to  me  ?" 

"  Intended  to  return  it !  Of  course." 
An  expression  of  hate  and  contempt  leaped  into  her 
handsome  grey  eyes,  and,  like  a  dog's,  the  red  lip  turned 
down,  for  she  suddenly  understood  tliat  this  pasty-faced, 
despicable  chap  had  placed  the  coin  where  it  might  have 
rolled  accidentally.  He  had  complained  that  morning  that 
she  did  not  keep  his  room  sufficiently  clean  !  It  was  a 
carefully-laid  plan,  he  was  watching  her  all  the  while, 
and  no  doubt  thought   thai  it  was  his   own  indiscretion 


ESTHER  WATERS  173 

that  had  prevented  her  from  falling  mto  the  trap.  She 
dropped  the  half-crown  at  his  feet  without  a  word ;  and 
all  the  time  she  remained  in  her  })resent  situation  she 
persistently  refused  to  s})eak  to  him ;  she  brought  him 
what  he  asked  for,  but  never  answered  him,  even  with  a 
Yes  or  No. 

It  was  during  the  few  minutes'  rest  after  dinner  that 
the  burden  of  the  day  pressed  heaviest  upon  her ;  then 
a  painful  weariness  grew  into  her  limbs,  and  it  seemed 
impossible  to  summon  strength  and  will  to  beat  carpets 
or  sweep  down  the  stairs.  But  if  she  were  not  moving 
about  before  the  clock  struck,  Mrs.  Bingley  came  down 
to  the  kitchen. 

"  Now,  Esther,  is  there  nothing  for  you  to  do  ?" 
And  again,  about   eight  o'clock,  she  felt  too  tired  to    ^^-^ 
bear  the  weight  of  her  own  flesh.     She  had  been  through 
fourteen  hours  of  toil,  with  no  breaks  but  hasty  meals,  and 
it  seemed  to  her  that  she  would  never  be  able  to  summon 
enough  courage  to  get  through  the  last  three  hours.     It 
was  this  last  climb  that  taxed  all  her  strength  and  all  her 
will.     Even  the  rest  that  awaited  her  at  eleven  o'clock  // 
was    blighted    by   the    knowledge    of  the    day  that   was*^   ' 
coming  ;    and  she  was  often  too  tired  to  rest,  and  rolled  '"M!^' 
over  and  over  in  her  garret  bed,  her  whole  body  aching, 
all  that  was  human  crushed  out  of  her  ;  even  her  baby  was 
growing  indifferent  to  her.     Ah,  if  he  was  to  die  !     She 
didn't  desire  her  boy's  death,  but  she  couldn't  forget  what 
the  baby-farmer  had  told  her,  that  the  burden  wouldn't 
become  lighter,  but  heavier  and  heavier.     Was  there  no 
hope  ?     She  buried  her  face  in  her  pillow. 

One  morning  she  was  startled  out  of  her  sleep  by  a  loud 
knocking  at  the  door.  It  was  Mrs.  Bingley,  who  had 
come  to  ask  her  if  she  knew  what  time  it  was.  It  was 
nearly  seven  o'clock.  But  Mrs.  Bingley  could  not  blame 
her  much,  having  herself  forgotten  to  put  on  the  electric 


174  ESTHER  WATERS 

bell,  and  Esther  hurried  through  her  dressmg.  But  in 
hurrying  she  trod  on  her  dress,  tearing  it  right  across,  a 
most  unfortunate  thing  to  happen,  and  just  when  her 
mistress  was  calling  her.  Iliere  was  nothing  for  it  but  to 
run  down  and  tell  her  what  had  happened. 

"  Haven't  you  got  another  dress  that  you  can  put  on  ?" 

"  No,  ma  am." 

"  Really,  I  can't  have  you  going  to  the  door  in  that 
thing.  You  don't  do  credit  to  my  house  ;  you  must  get 
yourself  a  new  dress  at  once." 

Esther  muttered  that  she  had  no  money  to  buy  one. 

"  Then  I  don't  know  what  you  do  with  your  money." 

"  What  I  do  with  my  wages  is  my  affair  ;  I've  plenty  of 
use  for  my  money." 

"  I  cannot  allow  any  servant  of  mine  to  speak  to  me 
like  that." 

Esther  did  not  answer,  and  Mrs.  Bingley  continued : 

"  It  is  my  duty  to  know  what  you  do  with  your  money, 
and  to  see  that  you  do  not  spend  it  in  any  wrong  Avay. 
I  am  responsible  for  your  moral  welfare." 

"  Then,  ma'am,  I  think  I  had  better  leave  you." 

"  Leave  me,  because  I  don't  wish  you  to  spend  your 
money  wrongfully,  because  I  know  the  temptations  that 
a  young  girl's  life  is  beset  wifh  ?" 

"  There  ain't  much  chance  of  temptation  for  them  who 
work  seventeen  hours  a  day." 

'^  Esther,  you  seem  to  forget " 

'^^  No,  ma'am;  but  there's  no  use  talking  about  what  I 
do  with  my  money — there  are  other  reasons  ;  the  place 
is  too  hard  a  one.  I've  felt  it  so  for  some  time,  ma'am. 
My  'ealth  ain't  equal  to  it." 

Once  she  had  spoken,  Esther  showed  no  disposition  to 
retract,  and  she  resisted  all  Mrs.  Bingley's  solicitations 
to  remain  with  her,  knowing  well  the  risk  she  was 
running  in  leaving  her  situation,  but  compelled  like  the 


ESTHER  WATERS  175 

hunted  animal  to  leave  the  cover  and  seek  safety  in  the 
open  country.  Her  whole  body  cried  out  for  rest,  she 
must  have  rest ;  that  was  the  thing  that  must  be.  Mrs. 
Lewis  would  keep  her  and  her  baby  for  twelve  shillings 
a  week  ;  the  present  was  the  Christmas  quarter,  and  she 
was  richer  by  five-and-twenty  shillings  than  she  had  been 
before.  Mrs.  Bingley  had  given  her  ten  shillings,  Mr. 
Hubert  five,  and  the  other  ten  had  been  contributed  by 
the  four  young  ladies.  Out  of  this  money  she  hoped  to 
be  able  to  buy  a  dress  and  a  pair  of  boots,  as  well  as  a 
fortnight's  rest  with  Mrs.  Lewis,  and  her  plans  had  been 
settled  some  three  weeks  before  her  month's  warning 
would  expire. 

Henceforth  the  days  of  her  servitude  drew  out,  seeming 
more  than  ever  exhausting,  and  the  longing  in  her  heart 
to  be  free,  at  times  rose  to  her  head,  and  her  brain  turned 
as   if  in    delirium,   for    every   time    she    sat    down    she 
remembered  she   was  so  many   hours   nearer   to   rest — a 
fortnight's  rest — she  could  not  afford  more  ;  but  in  her 
present  slavery  that  fortnight  seemed  at  once  as  a  paradise 
and   an    eternity.     Her  fear  was  that  her  health  might 
break  down,  and  that   she  would  be  laid   up  during  the 
time  she  intended  for  rest.     Her  baby  was  lost  sight  of  in 
her  desire  of  rest,  for  even  a  mother  demands  something 
in  return  for  her  love,  and   in  the  last  year  Jackie  had 
taken  much  and  given  nothing.     But  when  she  opened 
Mrs.   Lewis's  door  he   came  running  to  her,  calling  her 
Mummie  ;    and  the  immediate  preference  he  showed  for 
her,  climbing  on  her  knees  instead  of  on  Mrs.  Lewis's,  was 
a  fresh  sowing  of  love  in  the  mother's  heart. 

They  were  in  the  midst  of  those  few  days  of  sunny 
weather  which  come  in  January,  deluding  us  so  with  their 
brightness  and  warmth  that  we  look  round  for  roses  and 
are  astonished  to  see  the  earth  bare  of  flowers.  And  these 
bright  afternoons  Esther  spent  entirely  with  Jackie,     At 


176  ESTHER  WATERS 

the  top  of  the  hill  their  way  led  through  a  narrow  passage 
between  a  brick  wall  and  a  high  paling.  Slie  had  always 
to  carry  him  through  this  passage^  for  the  ground  there  was 
sloppy  and  dirty^  and  the  child  wanted  to  stop  to  watch 
the  pigs  through  the  chinks  in  the  boards.  But  when  they 
came  to  the  smooth^  wide,  high  roads  overlooking  the 
valley,  she  put  him  down,  and  he  M'ould  run  on  ahead, 
crying,  ''  Turn  for  a  walk,  Mummie,  turn  along,"  and  his 
little  feet  w^ent  so  quickly  beneath  his  frock  that  it  seemed 
as  if  he  were  on  wheels.  She  followed,  often  forced  to 
break  into  a  run,  tremulous  lest  he  should  fall,  and  to- 
gether they  descended  the  hill  into  the  ornamental  park, 
and  spent  happy  hours  amid  geometrically-designed 
flower-beds  and  curving  walks.  She  ventured  with  him 
as  far  as  the  old  Dulwich  village,  and  they  strolled  through 
the  long  street ;  and  when  Jackie  called  to  his  mother  to 
carry  him,  she  rejoiced  in  the  labour  of  his  w^eight ;  and 
when  he  grew  too  heavy,  she  rested  on  the  farm-gate, 
and  looked  into  the  low-lying,  shiftless  fields,  intersected 
with  broken  hedges.  And  when  the  chill  of  night  awoke 
her  from  dreams  already  forgotten  she  clasped  Jackie  to 
her  bosom  and  turned  towards  home,  very  soon  to  lose 
herself  again  in  another  tide  of  hap})iness. 

The  evenings,  too,  were  charming.  When  the  candles 
were  lighted,  and  tea  w^as  on  the  table,  Esther  sat  with 
the  dozing  child  on  her  knee,  looking  into  the  flickering 
fire,  her  mind  a  reverie,  occasionally  broken  by  the 
homely  talk  of  her  companion ;  and  when  the  child  M^as 
laid  in  his  cot  she  took  up  her  sewing — she  was  making 
herself  a  new  dress  ;  or  else  the  great  kettle  was  steaming 
on  the  hob,  and  the  women  stood  over  the  washing-tubs. 
On  the  following  evening  they  worked  on  either  side  of  the 
ironing-table,  the  candle  burning  brightly  and  their  vague 
woman's  chatter  sounding  pleasant  in  the  hush  of  the 
cottage.     A  little  after  nine  they  were  in  bed,  and  so  the 


ESTHER  WATERS  177 

days  went  by  softly,  like  happy,  trivial  dreams,  and  it 
was  not  till  the  end  of  the  third  week  that  Mrs.  Lewis 
would  hear  of  Esther  looking  out  for  another  j)lace.  And 
then  Esther  was  surprised  at  her  good  fortune.  A  friend 
of  Mrs.  Lewis's  knew  a  servant  who  was  leaving  her 
situation  in  the  West  End  of  London.  Esther  got  the 
address,  and  went  next  day  after  the  place.  She  was 
fortunate  enough  to  obtain  it,  and  her  mistress  seemed 
well  satisfied  Avith  her.  But  one  day  in  the  beginning  of 
her  second  year  of  service  she  was  told  that  her  mistress 
wished  to  speak  to  her  in  the  dining-room. 

"  I  fancy,"  said  the  cook,  "that  it  is  about  that  baby  of 
yours  ;  they're  very  strict  here." 

Mrs.  Trubner  was  sitting  on  a  low  wicker  chair  by  the 
fire.  She  was  a  large  woman  with  eagle  features.  Her 
eyesight  had  been  failing  for  some  years,  and  her  maid 
was  reading  to  her.  The  maid  closed  the  book  and  left 
the  room. 

''  It  has  come  to  my  knowledge,  Waters,  that  you  have 
a  child.     You're  not  a  married  woman,  I  believe?" 

"I've  been  unfortunate;  I've  a  child,  but  that  don't 
make  no  difference  so  long  as  I  gives  satisfaction  in  my 
work.     I  don't  think  that  the  cook  has  complained,  ma'am." 

"  No,  the  cook  hasn't  complained,  but  had  I  known  this 
I  don't  think  I  should  have  engaged  you.  In  the  character 
which  you  showed  me,  Mrs.  Barfield  said  that  she  believed 
you  to  be  a  thoroughly  religious  girl  at  heart." 

"  And  I  hope  I  am  that,  ma'am.  I  am  truly  sorry  for 
my  fault.      I've  suffered  a  great  deal." 

"  So  you  all  say ;  but  supposing  it  were  to  happen  again, 
and  in  my  house  ?     Supposing " 

"  Then  don't  you  think,  ma'am,  there  is  repentance  and 
forgiveness  ?     Our  Lord  said " 

"  You  ought  to  have  told  me  ;  and  as  for  Mrs.  Barfield, 
her  conduct  is  most  reprehensible.'* 

N 


178  ESTHER  WATERS 

"  Then,  ma'am,  would  you  prevent  every  poor  girl  who 
has  had  a  misfortune  from  earning  her  bread?  If  they 
was  all  like  you  there  would  be  more  girls  who'd  do 
away  with  themselves  and  their  babies.  You  don't 
know  how  hard  pressed  we  are.  The  baby-farmer  says, 
'  Give  me  five  pounds  and  I'll  find  a  good  woman  who 
wants  a  little  one,  and  you  shall  hear  no  more  about 
it.'  Them  very  words  were  said  to  me.  1  took  him 
away  and  hoped  to  be  able  to  rear  him,  but  if  I'm  to  lose 
my  situations " 

''  1  should  be  sorry  to  prevent  anyone  fi-om  earning  their 
bread " 

'^  You're  a  mother  yourself,  ma'am,  and  you  know  what 
it  is." 

"  Really,  it's  quite  different.  .  .  .  I  don't  know  what  3'ou 
mean,  Waters." 

"  I  mean  that  if  I  am  to  lose  my  situations  on  account  of 
my  baby,  I  don't  know  what  will  become  of  me.  If  I 
give  satisfaction " 

At  that  moment  Mr.  Trubner  arrived,  his  glasses  perched 
on  his  high  aquiline  nose,  his  mother's  feature  as  it  was 
his  :  a  large,  stout  man  slightly  out  of  breath. 

"Oh,  oh,  I  didn't  know,  mother,"  he  blurted  out,  and 
was  about  to  withdraw  when  Mrs.  Trubner  said  : 

"This  is  the  new  servant  whom  that  lady  in  Sussex 
recommended." 

Esther  saw  a  look  of  instinctive  repulsion  come  over 
his  face. 

"  I'll  leave  you  to  settle  with  her,  mother." 

"  I  must  speak  to  you,  Harold — I  must." 

"  I  really  can't ;  I  know  nothing  of  this  matter." 

He  tried  to  leave  the  room,  and  when  his  mother  stopped 
him  he  said  testily,  "  Well,  what  is  it  ?     I  am  ver}-  busy 

just  now,  and "      Mrs.  Trubner  told  Esther  to  wait  in 

the  passage. 


ESTHER  WATERS  179 

^'Well/'  said  Mr.  Trubner,  'Mmve  you  discharged  her? 
I  leave  all  these  things  to  you." 

•'  She  has  told  me  her  story,  and  truthfully  I  think, 
saying  that  if  she  is  kept  from  earning  her  bread  she 
doesn't  know  what  would  become  of  her.  Her  position 
is  a  very  hard  one." 

"  1  know  that.  But  we  can't  have  loose  women  about 
the  place.  They  all  can  tell  a  fine  story  ;  the  world  is 
full  of  imposters." 

''  I  don't  think  the  girl  is  an  imposter." 

"  Very  likely  not,  but  everyone  has  a  right  to  protect 
themselves." 

"  Don't  speak  so  loud,  Harold,"  said  Mrs.  Trubner, 
lowering  her  voice.  "  Remember  her  child  is  dependent 
upon  her  ;  if  we  send  her  away  we  don't  know  what  may 
happen.  I'll  pay  her  a  month's  wages  if  you  like,  but  you 
must  take  the  responsibility." 

"  I  won't  take  any  resi)onsibility  in  the  matter.  If  she 
had  been  here  two  years — she  has  only  been  here  a  year, 
not  so  much  more — and  had  proved  a  satisfactory  servant,  1 
don't  say  that  we'd  be  justified  in  sending  her  away.  But 
there  are  plenty  of  good  girls  who  want  a  situation  as 
much  as  she.  I  don't  see  why  we  should  harbour  loose 
women  when  there  are  so  many  deserving  cases." 

"  Then  you  want  me  to  send  her  away?" 

"  I  don't  want  to  interfere ;  you  ought  to  know  how  to 
act.  Supposing  the  same  thing  were  to  occur  again  ? 
My  cousins,  young  men,  coming  to  the  house " 

"  But  she  won't  see  them." 

''  Do  as  you  like ;  it  is  your  business,  not  mine.  It 
doesn't  matter  to  me,  so  long  as  I'm  not  interfered  with  ; 
keep  her  if  you  like.  You  ought  to  have  looked  into  her 
character  more  closely  before  you  engaged  her.  I  think 
that  the  lady  who  recommended  her  ought  to  be  written 
to  very  sharply." 


180  ESTHER  WATERS 

They  had  forgotten  to  close  the  door,  and  Esther  stood 
in  the  passage  burning  and  choking  with  shame. 

^^It  is_a  strange  thing  that  rehgion  should  make  some 
people  so  unfeeling/^~sIie~thought  as  she  left  Onslow 
S(Juare. 

It  was  thus  she  learnt  her  lesson  that  she  must  keep  her 
child  secret,  and  in  her  next  situation  she  shunned  intimacy 
with  her  fellow-servants,  thereby  exposing  herself  to  their 
sneers.  She  feared  the  remark  that  she  always  went  out, 
but  once  she  was  out  of  the  house  her  daily  life  fell 
behind  her,  and  she  arrived  breathless  with  expectation 
at  a  cottage  where  a  little  boy  stood  by  a  stout  middle- 
aged  woman,  turning  over  the  pages  of  the  illustrated 
papers  that  his  mother  had  brought  him.  She  had  no 
money  to  buy  him  toys,  and  dropping  the  Illustrated 
London  Ne?rs,  he  cried,  "  Here  is  Mummie,"  running  to  her 
with  outstretched  arms  while  Mrs.  Lewis  continued  her 
sewing.  And  for  an  hour  or  more  Esther  talked  about 
her  fellow-servants,  about  the  people  she  lived  with,  the 
conversation  interrupted  by  the  child  calling  his  mother's 
attention  to  the  pictures,  or  by  the  trustful  intrusion  of 
his  little  hand  into  hers. 

Her  clothes  were  her  great  hardship,  and  she  often 
thought  that  she  would  rather  go  back  to  the  slavery 
of  the  house  in  Chelsea,  than  bear  the  humiliation  of  going 
out  any  longer  on  Sunday  in  the  old  things  that  the 
servants  had  seen  her  in  for  eight  or  nine  months  or  more. 
She  was  made  to  feel  that  she  was  the  lowest  of  the  low — 
the  servant  of  servants.  She  had  to  accept  everybody's 
sneer  and  everybody's  bad  language,  and  oftentimes  gross 
familiarity,  in  order  to  avoid  arguments  and  disputes  which 
might  endanger  her  situation.  She  had  to  shut  lier  eyes  to 
the  thefts  of  cooks ;  she  had  to  fetch  them  drink,  and  to 
do  their  work  when  they  were  unable  to  do  it  themselves. 
But  there  was  no  help  for  it.     She  could  not  pick    and 


ESTHER  WATERS  181 

choose  where  she  would  live,  and  any  wages  above  sixteen 
pounds  a  year  she  must  always  accept^  and  put  up  with 
whatever  inconvenience  she  might  meet. 

Hers  is  a  heroic  adventure  if  one  considers  it — a 
motlier's  fight  for  the  life  of  her  child  against  all  the 
forces  that  civilisation  arrays  against  the  lowly  and  the 
illegTETmate.  SKe  is  ni  a  situation  to-day,  but  on  what 
security  does  she  hold  it?  She  i^.^'ange^ d &p£jident  on  - 
her  own  health,  and  still  ^""^^^^  upon  the  fortunes,  and  the 
personal  caprice  of  her  employers  ;  and  she  realised  the 
perils  of  her  lifewTTeiTan  outcast  mother  at  the  corner  of 
the  street,  stretching  out  of  her  rags  a  brown  hand  and 
arm,  asked  alms  for  the  sake  of  the  little  children.  For 
three  months  out  of  a  situation  and  she,  too,  would  be  on 
the  street  as  a  flower-seller,  match-seller,  or 

It  did  not  seem,  however,  that  any  of  these  fears  were  to 
be  realised.  Her  luck  had  mended.  For  nearly  two 
years  she  had  been  living  with  some  rich  people  in  the 
West  End  ;  she  liked  her  mistress  and  was  on  good  terms 
with  her  fellow-servants,  and  had  it  not  been  for  an 
accident  she  could  have  kept  this  situation.  The  young 
gentlemen  had  come  home  for  their  summer  holidays,  and 
one  day  as  she  stepped  aside  to  let  Master  Harry  pass  her 
on  the  stairs,  he  did  not  go  by,  but  stood  looking  at  her 
with  a  strange  smile  on  his  face. 

•'  Look  here,  Estlier,  Em  awfully  fond  of  you.  You  are 
the  prettiest  girl  Eve  ever  seen.  Come  out  for  a  walk 
with  me  next  Sunday." 

"  Master  Harry,  Em  surprised  at  you ;  will  you  let  me 
go  by  at  once  .'*" 

There  was  no  one  near,  the  house  was  silent,  and  the 
boy  stood  on  the  step  above  her.  He  tried  to  throw  his 
arm  round  her  waist,  but  she  shook  him  off  and  went  up 
to  her  room  calm  with  indignation.    A  few  days  afterwards 


1S2  ESTHER  WATERS 

she  suddenly  became  aware  that  he  was  following  her  in 
the  street.     She  turned  sharply  upon  him. 

''  Master  Harry,  I  know  that  this  is  only  a  little  foolish- 
ness on  your  part,  but  if  you  don't  leave  off  I  shall  lose 
my  situation,  and  I'm  sure  you  don't  want  to  do  me  an 
injury." 

Master  Harry  seemed  sorry,  and  he  promised  not  to 
follow  her  in  the  street  again.  And  never  thinking  that 
it  was  he  who  had  written  the  letter  she  received  a 
few  days  after,  she  asked  Annie,  the  upper  housemaid,  to 
read  it.  It  contained  reference  to  meetings  and  unalter- 
able affection,  and  it  concluded  with  a  promise  to  marry 
her  if  she  lost  her  situation  through  his  fault.  Esther 
listened  like  one  stunned.  A  schoolboy's  folly,  the  first 
silly  sentiment,  ility  of  a  boy,  a  thing  lighter  than  the 
^1  lightest  leaf  that  falls,  had  brought  disaster  upon  her. 
7^ — ^  If  Annie  had  not  seen  the  letter  she  might  have  been 
able  to  get  the  boy  to  listen  to  reason ;  but  Annie  had 
seen  the  letter,  and  Annie  could  not  be  trusted.  The 
story  would  be  sure  to  come  out,  and  then  she  would  lose 
her  character  as  well  as  her  situation.  It  was  a  great  pity, 
for  her  mistress  had  promised  to  have  her  taught  cooking 
at  South  Kensington,  and  a  cook's  wages  would  secure  her 
and  her  child  against  all  usual  run  of  accidents.  She  would 
never  get  such  a  chance  again,  and  would  remain  a  kitchen- 
maid  to  the  end  of  her  days.  But  there  was  no  help  for 
it,  and  acting  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment  she  went 
straight  to  the  drawing-room.  Her  mistress  was  alone, 
and  Esther  handed  her  the  letter.  "  I  thought  you  had 
better  see  this  at  once,  ma'am.  I  did  not  want  you  to 
think  it  was  my  fault.  Of  course  the  young  gentleman 
means  no  harm." 

"  Has  anyone  seen  this  letter  ?" 

^^I  showed  it  to  Annie.  I'm  no  scholar  myself,  and  the 
writing  was  hard." 


ESTHER  WATERS  IRS 

"  You  have  no  reason  for  supposing How   often 

did  Master  Harry  speak  to  you  in  this  way  ?" 

"  Only  twice,  ma'am." 

"  Of  course  it  is  only  a  little  foolishness.  I  needn't  say 
that  lie  doesn't  mean  what  he  says." 

"  I  told  him,  ma'am,  that  if  he  continued  I  should  lose 
my  situation." 

"  I'm  sorry  to  part  with  you,  Esther,  but  I  really  think 
that  the  best  way  will  be  for  you  to  leave.  I  am  much 
obliged  to  you  for  showing  me  this  letter.  Master  Harry, 
you  see,  says  that  he  is  going  away  to  the  country  for 
a  week.  He  left  this  morning.  So  I  really  think  that  a 
month's  wages  will  settle  matters  nicely.  You  are  an 
excellent  servant,  and  I  shall  be  glad  to  recommend  you." 

Then  Esther  heard  her  mistress  mutter  something  about 
the  danger  of  good-looking  servants.  She  %vas  paid  a 
month's  wages,  and  left  that  afternoon. 


XXI. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  August,  and  London  yawned 
in  every  street ;  the  dust  blew  unslaked,  and  a  little  cloud 
curled  and  disappeared  over  the  crest  of  the  hill  at  Hyde 
Park  Corner  ;  the  streets  and  St.  George's  Place  looked 
out  with  blind,  white  eyes  ;  and  in  the  deserted  Park  the 
trees  tossed  their  foliage  restlessly,  as  if  they  wearied  and 
missed  the  fashion  of  their  season.  And  all  through  Park 
Lane  and  Mayfair,  caretakers  and  gaunt  cats  were  the 
traces  that  the  caste  on  which  Esther  depended  had  left  of 
its  departed  presence.  She  was  coming  from  the  Alexandra 
Hotel,  where  she  had  heard  a  kitchen-maid  was  wanted. 
Another  disappointment !  Good  situations  were  seldom 
found  in  the  summer  months,  and  it  would  be  bad  policy 
to  take   a   bad   one,   even   if  it  were   only  for  a  while 


184  ESTHER  WATERS 

Besides,  she  had  saved  a  Httle  monej^  and,  feehng  that 
she  requh-ed  a  rest,  she  took  Mrs.  Lewis'  advice  to  wait. 
But  as  luck  would  have  it  Jackie  fell  ill  before  she  had 
been  at  Dulwich  a  week ;  his  illness  made  a  big  hole  in 
her  savings,  and  it  became  plain  that  she'd  have  to  go  to 
work  at  once. 

She  was  going  north,  to  a  registry  office  near  Oxford 
Street,  which  Mrs.  Lewis  had  recommended.  Holborn  Row 
was  difficult  to  find,  and  she  had  to  ask  the  way  very  often, 
but  she  suddenly  knew  that  she  was  in  the  right  street  by 
the  number  of  servant-girls  going  and  coming  from  the 
office,  and  in  company  with  live  others  she  ascended  a 
gloomy  little  staircase  and  passed  into  an  odour  of  poverty. 

The  benches  were  occupied  by  fifteen  or  twent}'  poorly- 
dressed  M  omen,  and  a  little  old  woman,  very  white  and 
pale,  stood  near  the  window  recounting  her  misfortunes  to 
no  one  in  particular. 

"  I  lived  with  her  more  than  thirty  years ;  I  brought  up 
all  the  children.  I  entered  her  service  as  nurse,  and  when 
the  children  grew  up  I  was  given  the  management  of 
everj'thing.  For  the  last  fifteen  years  my  mistress  was  a 
confirmed  invalid.  She  entrusted  everything  to  me. 
Oftentimes  she  took  my  hand  and  said,  '  You  are  a  good 
creature.  Holmes,  you  mustn't  think  of  leaving  me  ;  how 
should  I  get  on  without  you  ?'  But  when  she  died  they 
had  to  part  with  me  ;  they  said  they  Avere  very  sorry,  and 
w'ouldn't  have  thought  of  doing  so,  only  they  were  afraid 
I  was  gettin^Jtoo  old  for  the  work.  I  daresay  I  was 
wi'ong  to  stop  so  long  in  one  situation.  I  shouldn't  have 
done  so,  but  she  always  used  to  say, '  You  mustn't  leave  us  ; 
we  never  shall  be  able  to  get  on  without  you.'  " 

At  that  moment  the  secretary,  an  alert  young  woman 
w4th  a  decisive  voice,  came  through  the  folding  doors. 

"  I  will  not  have  all  this  talking,"  she  said.  Her  quick 
eyes  fell  on  the  little  old  woman,  and  she  came  forward  a 


ESTHER  WATERS  185 

few  steps.  "  What,  you  here  again,  Miss  Holmes  ?  I  told 
you  that  when  I  hear  of  anything  that  will  suit  you  I'll 
w^rite." 

^^So  you  saidj  miss,  but  my  little  savings  are  running 
short.     I'm  being  pressed  for  my  rent." 

"  I  can't  help  that ;  when  I  hear  of  anything  I'll  write. 
But  I  can't  have  you  coming  here  every  third  day  wasting 
my  time;  now  run  along."  And  having  made  casual 
remarks  about  the  absurdity  of  people  of  that  age  coming 
after  situations,  she  called  to  her  desk  three  or  four  women, 
of  whom  Esther  was  one,  and  after  examining  them 
critically,  she  seemed  especially  satisfied  with  Esther's 
appearance. 

"  It  will  be  difficult,"  she  said,  "  to  find  you  the  situation 
you  want  before  people  begin  to  return  to  town.  Now  if 
you  were  only  an  inch  or  two  taller  I  could  get  you  a  dozen 
places  as  housemaid ;  tall  servants  are  all  the  fashion,  and 
you  are  the  right  age — about  five-and-twenty." 

Esther  left  a  dozen  stamps  with  her,  and  soon  after  she 
began  to  receive  letters  containing  the  addresses  of  ladies 
who  required  servants.  They  were  of  all  sorts,  and  Esther 
set  out  on  long  journe3^s  from  Brixton  to  Notting  Hill  to 
visit  poor  people  who  could  hardly  afford  a  maid-of-all- 
work.  Sometimes  she  was  asked  to  call  at  a  house  in 
Bayswater,  and  thence  she  had  to  go  to  High  Street, 
Kensington,  or  Earl's  Court ;  a  third  address  might  be 
in  Chelsea.  She  could  only  guess  which  was  the  best 
chance,  and  while  she  was  hesitating  the  situation  might 
be  given  away.  Very  often  the  ladies  were  out,  and  she 
was  asked  to  call  later  in  the  day  These  casual  hours 
she  spent  in  the  parks,  mending  Jackie's  socks  or  hemming 
pocket-handkerchiefs,  so  she  was  frequently  delayed  till 
evening ;  and  in  the  mildness  of  the  summer  twihght, 
with  some  fresh  disappointment  lying  heavy  on  her  heart, 
she  made  lier  way  from  the  Marble  Arch  round  the  barren 


186  ESTHER  WATERS 

Serpentine    into    Piccadilly,    with    its    stream    of    lights 
beginning  in  the  sunset. 

And  standing  at  the  kerb  of  Piccadilly  Circus,  waiting 
for  a  bus  to  take  her  to  Ludgate  Hill  Station,  the  girl  grew 
conscious  of  the  moving  multitude  that  filled  the  streets. 
The   ffreat  restaurants   rose    up    calm    and    violet    in   the 


up 


evening  sky,  the  Cafe  Monico,  with  its  air  of  French  news- 
papers and  Italian  wines  ;  and  before  the  grey  facade  of 
the  fashionable  Criterion  hansoms  stopped  and  dinner 
parties  walked  across  the  pavement.  The  fine  weather 
brought  the  wenches  up  earlier  than  usual  from  the 
suburbs,  and  they  came  up  the  long  road  from  Fulham, 
with  white  dresses  floating  from  their  hips,  and  feather 
boas  waving  a  few  inches  from  the  pavement.  But 
through  this  elegant  disguise  Esther  could  pick  out  the 
servg^t^girls.  Their  stories  were  her  story.  Each  and  all 
had  been  deserted ;  and  perhaps  each  had  a  child  to 
support.  But  they  hadn't  been  as  lucky  as  she  had  been 
in  finding  situations,  that  was  all. 

But  her  luck  seemed  to  have  left  her  for  good.  They 
were  now  in  the  middle  of  September  and  she  was  not 
able  to  find  the  situation  she  wanted,  and  it  became  more 
and  more  distressing  to  her  to  refuse  sixteen  pounds  a 
year,  but  nothing  less  than  eighteen  pounds  was  of  any 
use  to  her.  With  eighteen  pounds  and  a  kind  mistress 
who  would  give  her  an  old  dress  occasionally  she  could 
do  very  well.  But  if  she  didn't  find  these  two  })ounds  she 
did  not  know  what  she  should  do.  She  might  drag  on 
for  a  time  on  sixteen  pounds,  but  such  wages  would  drive 
her  in  the  end  into  the  workhouse.  Jackie  cost  her  more 
than  he  used  to.  A  sudden  imagination  let  her  see  him 
playing  in  the  little  street,  waiting  for  her  to  come  home, 
and  hf^r  love  for  him  went  to  her  head  like  madness,  and 
she  wondered  at  herself;  for  it  seemed  almost  unnatural 
to  love  anything  as  she  did  this  child. 


ESTHER  WATERS  187 

And  then,  in  a  shiver  of  tear,  determined  to  save  her 
bus  fare,  she  made  her  way  through  Leicester  Square, 
hastening-  her  steps  when  addressed  by  a  passer-by,  which 
was  hard  to  do,  for  she  had  been  walking  all  day  and  had 
not  tasted  food  since  the  morning,  and  the  weakness  of 
the  flesh  brought  a  sudden  weakness  of  the  spirit.  She 
felt  that  she  could  struggle  no  more,  that  the  whole 
world  was  against  her — she  felt  that  she  must  have  food 
and  drink  and  rest.  All  this  London  tempted^ her;  the 
cup  was  at  her  lips,  for  a  young  man  in  evening  clothes 
was  speaking  to  her.  His  voice  was  soft,  the  look  in  his 
eyes  seemed  kindly. 

Thinking  of  the  circumstances  ten  minutes  later,  it 
seemed  to  her  that  she  had  intended  to  answer  him.  But 
she  was  now  at  Charing  Cross.  There  was  a  lightness,  an 
emptiness  in  her  head  which  she  could  not  overcome,  and 
the  crowd  appeared  to  her  like  a  blurred,  noisy  dream. 
And  then  the  dizziness  left  her,  and  she  realised  the 
temptation  she  had  escaped.  Here,  as  in  Piccadilly,  she 
could  pick  out  the  servant-girls  ;  but  here  their  service 
was  yesterday's  lodging-house — poor  and  dissipated  girls, 
dressed  in  vague  clothes  fixed  with  hazardous  pins.  Two 
young  women  came  out  of  an  eating-house,  hanging  on 
each  other's  arms,  talking  lazily.  The  skirt  on  the  outside 
was  a  soiled  mauve,  and  the  bodice  that  went  with  it  was  a 
soiled  chocolate.  A  broken  yellow  plume  hung  out  of  a 
battered  hat.  The  skirt  on  the  inside  was  a  dim  green, 
and  little  was  left  of  the  cotton  velvet  jacket  but  the 
cotton.  A  girl  of  sixteen  walking  sturdily,  like  a  little 
man,  crossed  the  road,  her  left  hand  thrust  deep  into  the 
pocket  of  her  red  cashmere  dress.  She  wore  on  her 
shoulders  a  strip  of  beaded  mantle  ;  her  hair  was  plaited 
and  tied  with  a  red  ribbon.  Elderly  women  passed,  their 
eyes  liquid  with  invitation ;  and  the  huge  bar-loafer, 
the    man    of    fifty,   the    hooked    nose    and    the   waxed 


188  ESTHER  WATERS 

moustache,  stood  at  the  door  of  a  restaurant^  passing  the 
women  in  review. 

A  true  London  of  the  water's  edge — a  London  of 
theatres,  music-halls,  wine-shops,  public-houses — the  walls 
painted  various  colours,  nailed  over  with  huge  gold 
lettering  ;  the  pale  air  woven  with  delicate  wire,  a  gossamer 
web  underneath  Avhich  the  crowd  moved  like  lazy  flies, 
one  half  watching  the  perforated  spire  of  St.  Mary's,  and 
all  the  City  spires  behind  it  now  growing  cold  in  the  east ; 
the  other  half  seeing  the  spire  of  St.  Martin's  above  the 
chimney-pots  aloft  in  a  sky  of  cream  pink.  Stalwart 
policemen  urged  along  groups  of  slattern  boys  and  girls  ; 
and  after  vulgar  remonstrance  these  took  the  hint  and 
disappeared  down  strange  passages.  Suddenly  Esther 
came  face  to  face  with  a  woman  whom  she  recognised 
as  Margaret  Gale. 

"  What,  is  it  you,  Margaret  ?" 

'-  Yes,  it  is  me  all  right  What  are  you  doing  up  here  ? 
Got  tired  of  service?     Come  and  have  a  drink,  old  gal." 

"  No.  thank  you  ;  I'm  glad  to  have  seen  you,  Margaret, 
but  I've  a  train  to  catch." 

'^  That  won't  do,"  said  Margaret,  catching  her  by  the 
arm  ;  "  we  must  have  a  drink  and  a  talk  over  old  times." 

Esther  felt  that  if  she  didn't  have  something  she  would 
faint  before  she  reached  Ludgate  Hill,  and  Margaret  led 
the  way  through  the  public-house,  opening  all  the 
varnished  doors,  seeking  a  quiet  corner.  "  What's  the 
matter  ?"  she  said,  startled  at  the  pallor  of  Esther's  face. 

"  Only  a  little  faintness  ;  I've  not  had  anything  to  eat 
all  day." 

'•  Quick,  quick,  four  of  brandy  and  some  water,"  Mar- 
garet cried  to  the  barman,  and  a  moment  after  she  was 
holding  the  glass  to  her  friend's  lips.  '^  Not  had  anything 
to  eat  all  day,  dear  }  Then  we'll  have  a  bite  and  a  sup 
together.     I  feel  a  bit  peckish  myself.     Two  sausages  and 


ESTHER  WATERS  189 

two  rolls  and  butter,"  she  cried.  Then  the  women  had  a 
long  talk.  Margaret  told  Esther  the  story  of  her  mis- 
fortune. The  Bjirfields  were  all  gone  broke.  They  had 
been  very  unluckyracing,  and  when  the  servants  got  the 
sacin^rargaret  had  come  up  to  London.  She  had  been  in 
several  situations,  and  finally,  one  of  her  masters  had  got 
her  into  trouble,  his  wife  had  turned  her  out  neck  and 
crop,  and  Avhat  was  she  to  do  ?  Esther  told  how  Master 
Harry  had  lost  her  her  situation. 

'^  And  you  left  like  that?  Well  I  never!  The  better 
one  behaves  the  worse  one  gets  treated,  and  them  that 
goes  on  with  service  find  themselves  in  the  end  without  as 
much  as  Avill  buy  them  a  Sunday  dinner." 

Margaret  insisted  on  accompanying  Esther,  and  they 
walked  together  as  far  as  Wellington  Street.  "  I  can't  go 
any  farther,"  and  pointing  to  where  London  seemed  to  end 
in  a  piece  of  desolate  sky,  she  said,  "  I  live  on  the  other 
side,  in  Stamford  Street.  You  might  come  and  see  me. 
If  you  ever  get  tired  of  service  you'll  get  decent  rooms 
there." 

Bad  weather  followed  fine,  and  under  a  streamhig 
umbrella  Esther  went  from  one  address  to  another,  her 
damp  skirts  clinging  about  her  and  her  boots  clogged  with 
mud.  She  looked  upon  the  change  as  unfortunate,  for  in 
getting  a  situation  so  much  depended  on  personal  appear- 
ance and  cheerfulness  of  manner  ;  and  it  is  hard  to  seem 
a  right  and  tidy  girl  after  two  miles'  walk  through  the 
rain. 

One  lady  told  Esther  that  she  liked  tall  servants, 
another  said  she  never  engaged  good-looking  girls,  and 
another  place  that  would  have  suited  her  was  lost  through 
answering  that  she  was  chapel.  The  lady  would  have 
nothing  in  her  house  but  church.  Then  there  were  the 
disappointments  occasioned  by  the  letters  which  she 
received    from    people    who    she    thought   would    have 


190  ESTHER  WATERS 

engaged  her^  saying  they  were  sorry,  but  that  they  had 
seen  some  one  whom  they  Uked  better. 

Another  week  passed  ;  Esther  had  to  pawn  her  clothes 
to  get  money  for  her  train  fare  to  London  and  keep  the 
registry  office  suppUed  with  stamps  ;  and  she  lay  awake 
thinking  that  she  and  Jackie  must  go  back  to  the  work- 
house. Mrs.  Lewis  had  been  very  good  to  them,  but 
Esther  owed  her  two  weeks'  money.  She  had  heard  of 
charitable  institutions,  but  she  was  an  ignorant  girl  and 
didn't  know  how  to  make  the  necessary  inquiries.  Money, 
money !  oh,  the  want  of  a  little  money — of  a  very  little 
money !  The  thought  beat  into  her  brain.  For  just 
enough  to  hold  on  till  the  people  came  back  to  town. 

One  day  Mrs.  Lewis,  who  read  the  newspapers  for  her, 
came  to  her  with  an  advertisement  which  she  said  seemed 
to  read  like  a  very  likely  chance.  Esther  looked  at  the 
pence  which  remained  out  of  the  last  dress  that  she  had 
pawned. 

''  I'm  afraid,"  she  said,  ^^it  will  turn  out  like  the  others  ; 
I'm  out  of  my  luck." 

"  Don't  say  that,"  said  Mrs.  Lovis.  "  Keep  your  pecker 
up ;  I'll  stick  to  you  as  long  as  I  can." 

The  women  had  a  good  cry  in  each  other's  arms,  and 
then  Mrs.  Lewis  advised  Esther  to  take  the  situation,  even 
if  it  were  no  more  than  sixteen.  "  A  lot  can  be  done  by 
constant  saving,  and  if  she  gives  yer  'er  dresses  and  ten 
shillings  for  a  Christmas-box,  I  don't  see  why  you  shouldn't 
pull  through.  And  the  child  shan't  cost  you  more  than 
five  shillings  a  week  till  you  get  a  situation  as  plain  cook, 
ril  see  to  that.  Here  is  the  address — Miss  Rice,  Avondale 
Road,  West  Kensington." 


ESTHER  WATERS  191 


XXII 


AvoNDALE  Road  was  an  obscure  corner  of  the  suburb — 
obscure,  for  it  had  just  sprung  into  existence.  The 
scaffolding  that  had  built  it  now  littered  an  adjohiing  field, 
where  in  a  few  months  it  would  rise  about  Horsley 
Gardens,  whose  red  gables  and  tiled  upper  walls  will 
correspond  with  Avondale  Road.  "Nothing  much  like 
eighteen  pounds  a  year,"  she  said,  "in  this  neighbourhood. 
Hot  joint  to-day,  cold  the  next,"  and  raising  her  eyes  she 
saw  the  tiny  gable  windoAvs  of  the  cupboard-like  rooms 
where  the  single  servant  kept  in  these  houses  slept. 

A  few  steps  more  brought  her  to  41,  the  corner  house, 
and  the  thin  passage  and  the  meagre  staircase  confirmed 
Esther  in  the  poor  opinion  she  had  formed  from  the 
aspect  of  the  street ;  and  she  felt  that  the  place  was  more 
suitable  to  the  gaunt  woman  with  iron-grey  hair  whom 
she  found  waiting  in  the  passage.  The  woman  looked 
apprehensively  at  Esther,  and  Avhen  Esther  said  that  she 
had  come  after  the  place  a  painful  change  of  expression 
passed  over  her  face,  and  she  answered  : 

"  You'll  get  it ;  I'm  too  old  for  anything  but  charing. 
How  much  are  you  going  to  ask  ?" 
"  I  can't  take  less  than  sixteen." 

"  Sixteen !  I  used  to  get  that  once  ;  I'd  be  glad  enough 
to  get  twelve  now.  You  can't  think  of  sixteen  once 
you've  turned  forty,  and  I've  lost  my  teeth,  and  they  means 
a  couple  of  pound  off." 

Then  the  door  opened,  and  a  woman's  voice  called  to 
the  gaunt  woman  to  come  in.  She  went  in,  and  Esther 
breathed  a  prayer  that  she  might  not  be  engaged.  A 
minute  intervened,  and  the  gaunt  woman  came  out ;  there 
were  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  she  whispered  to  Esther  as  she 
})asscd,    '•  No   good  ;     I    told    you    so.      I'm    too    old    for 


192  ESTHER  WATERS 

anything  but  charing."  The  abruptness  of  the  interview 
suggested  a  hard  mistress,  and  Esther  was  surprised  to 
find  herself  in  the  presence  of  a  sHm  lady,  about  seven-and 
thirty,  whose  small  grey  eyes  seemed  to  express  a  kind 
and  gentle  nature. 

The  room  almost  said  that  the  occupant  Avas  a  spinster 
and  a  writer,  and  Esther  remembered  that  she  had  noticed 
even  at  the  time  Miss  Rice's  writing ;  it  was  such  a 
beautiful  clear  round  hand,  and  it  lay  on  the  table,  ready 
to  be  continued  the  moment  she  should  have  settled 
with  her. 

"  I  saw  your  advertisement  in  the  paper,  miss ;  I've 
come  after  the  situation." 

"  You  are  used  to  service  ?" 

''  Yes,  miss,  I've  had  several  situations  in  gentlemen's 
families,  and  have  excellent  characters  from  them  all." 
Miss  Rice  put  up  her  glasses  and  her  grey  eyes  smiled, 
and  she  seemed  pleased  Avith  the  someMhat  rugged  but 
pleasant-featured  girl  before  her. 

"  I  live  alone,"  she  said ;  "the  place  is  an  easy  one,  and 
if  the  wages  satisfy  you,  I  think  you  will  suit  me  very  well. 
My  servant,  who  has  been  with  me  some  years,  is  leaving 
me  to  be  married." 

"  What  are  the  wages,  miss  V 

"  Fourteen  pounds  a  year." 

"  I'm  afraid,  miss,  there  would  be  no  use  my  taking  the 
place  ;  I've  so  many  calls  on  my  money  that  I  could  not 
manage  on  fourteen  pounds.  I'm  very  sorry,  for  I  feel  sure 
I  should  like  to  live  with  you,  miss." 

'^  I  think  we  should  suit  each  other,"  Miss  Rice  said 
reflectively.  "  I  should  like  to  have  you  for  my  servant  if 
I  could  afford  it.      How  much  would  you  take  ?" 

"  Situated  as  I  am,  miss,  I  could  not  take  less  than 
sixteen.     I've  been  used  to  eighteen." 


ESTHER  WATERS  193 

"  Sixteen  pounds  is  more  than  I  can  afford,  but  I'll  think 
it  over.     Give  me  your  name  and  address." 

"Esther  Waters,  13  Poplar  Road,  Dulwich." 

As  Esther  turned  to  go  she  became  aware  of  the  kind- 
ness of  the  eyes  that  looked  at  her.     Miss  Rice  said  : 

"  I'm  afraid  you're  in  trouble.    Sit  down ;  tell  me  about  it. " 

"  No,  miss,  what's  the  use .''"  But  Miss  Rice  looked  at 
her  so  kindly  that  Esther  could  not  restrain  herself. 
*' There's  nothing  for  it,"  she  said,  "but  to  go  back  to  the 
workhouse." 

"  But  why  should  you  go  to  the  workhouse  ?  I  off'er 
you  fourteen  pounds  a  year  and  ever3rthing  found." 

"  You  see,  miss,  I've  a  baby.  We've  been  in  the  work- 
house already ;  I  had  to  go  there  the  night  I  left  my 
situation  to  get  him  away  from  Mrs.  Spires.  She  wanted 
to  kill  him ;  she'd  have  done  it  for  five  pounds — that's  the 
price.  But,  miss,  my  story  is  not  one  that  can  be  told  to  a 
lady  such  as  you." 

"  I  think  I'm  old  enough  to  listen  to  your  story ;  sit 
down,  and  tell  it  to  me." 

And  all  the  while  Miss  Rice's  eyes  were  filled  with 
tenderness  and  pity. 

"  A  very  sad  story — just  such  a  story  as  happens  every 
day.     But  you  have  been  punished,  you  have  indeed." 

"  Yes,  miss,  I  think  I  have ;  and  after  all  these  years  of 
striving  it  is  hard  to  have  to  take  him  back  to  the  work- 
house. Not  that  I  want  to  give  out  that  I  was  badly 
treated  there,  but  it  is  the  child  I'm  thinking  of.  He  was 
then  a  little  baby  and  it  didn't  matter  ;  we  was  only  there 
a  few  months.  There's  no  one  that  knows  of  it  but  me. 
But  he's  a  growing  boy  now,  he'll  remember  the  work- 
house, and  it  will  be  always  a  disgrace." 

"  How  old  is  he  ?" 

"  He  was  six  last  May,  miss.  It  has  hern  a  hard  jol)  to 
bring  him  up.      I  now  pay  six  shillings  a  week  for  him, 

o 


194  ESTHER  WATERS 

that's  more  than  fourteen  pounds  a  year^  and  you  can't  do 
much  in  the  way  of  clothes  on  two  pounds  a  year.  And 
now  that  he's  growing  up  he's  costing  more  than  ever  ; 
but  Mrs.  Lewis — that's  the  woman  what  has  brought  him 
up — is  as  fond  of  him  as  I  am  myself.  She  don't  want  to 
make  nothing  out  of  his  keep,  and  that's  how  I've  managed 
up  to  the  present.  But  I  see  well  enough  that  it  can't  be 
done  ;  his  expense  increases,  and  the  wages  remains  the 
same.  It  was  my  pride  to  bring  him  up  on  my  earnings, 
and  my  hope  to  see  him  an  honest  man  earning  good 
money.  But  it  wasn't  to  be,  miss,  it  wasn't  to  be.  We 
must  be  humble  and  go  back  to  the  w^orkhouse." 
"  I  can  see  that  it  has  been  a  hard  fight." 
"  It  has  indeed,  miss  ;  no  one  will  ever  know  how  hard. 

I  shouldn't  mind  if  it  wasn't  going  to  end  by  going  back 
to  where  it  started.     They'll  take  him  from  me  ;  I  shall 

never  see  him  while  he  is  there.     I  wish  I  was  dead,  miss, 

I  can't  bear  my  trouble  no  longer." 

'^  You  shan't  go  back  to  the  workhouse  so  long  as  I  can 

help  you.     Esther,  I'll  give  you  the  wages  you  ask  for. 

It  is  more  than  I  can  afford.     Eighteen  pounds  a  year ! 

But  your  child  shall  not  be  taken  from  you.     You  shall 

not  go  to  the  workhouse.     There  aren't  many  such  good 

women  in  the  world  as  you,  Esther." 


XXIII. 

They  were  not  unlike — quiet,  instinctive  Englishwomen, 
strong,  warm  natures,  under  an  appearance  of  formality 
and  reserve,  and  it  took  some  time  before  either  was  able 
to  put  aside  her  natural  reserve.  But  the  instincts  of  the 
dog  soon  began  to  develop  in  Esther,  and  she  watched 
the  household  expenses,  likewise  her  mistress's  health. 
'^'  Now,  miss,  I  must  'ave  you  take  your  soup  while  il  is 


ESTHER  WATERS  195 

'ot.  You'd  better  put  away  your  writing  ;  you've  been  at 
it  all  the  morning.  You'll  make  yourself  ill,  and  then  I 
shall  have  the  nursing  of  you."  If  Miss  Rice  was  going 
out  in  the  evening  she  would  find  herself  stopped  in  the 
{passage  :  "  Now,  miss,  I  really  can't  see  you  go  out  like 
that ;  you'll  catch  your  death  of  cold.  You  must  put  on 
your  warm  cloak." 

Miss  Rice's  friends  were  principally  middle-aged  ladies. 
Her  sisters,  large,  stout  women,  came  to  see  her,  and 
there  was  a  fashionably-dressed  young  man  whom  her 
mistress  seemed  to  like  very  much,  Mr.  Alden,  was  often 
at  the  house  ;  Miss  Rice  told  Esther  that  he  wrote  novels  ; 
they  used  to  talk  for  hours,  and  Esther  bethought  herself 
that  Miss  Rice  was  giving  her  heart  to  one  who  did  not 
care  for  her.  But  mayhap  it  was  only  about  books  they 
were  talking ;  if  so,  Esther  didn't  think  she'd  care,  if  she 
had  a  young  man,  to  see  him  come  and  go  like  a  shadow. 
But  she  hadn't  a  young  man,  and  did  not  want  one.  All 
she  now  wanted  was  to  awake  in  the  morning  and  know 
that  her  child  was  safe.  And  for  more  than  a  year  she 
followed  her  plan  of  life,  laughing  the  casual  suitor  into 
silence,  and  rarely  persuaded  into  a  promise  to  walk  out 
with  any  of  them. 

One  of  these  swains  was  a  stationer's  foreman,  and 
almost  every  day  Esther  went  to  the  stationer's  for  the 
sermon  paper  on  which  her  mistress  wrote  her  novels,  for 
blotting-paper,  for  stamps,  or  to  post  letters.  Fred  Parsons 
was  his  name — a  meagre  little  man  about  thirty-five, 
whose  high  prominent  forehead  rose  above  a  small  pointed 
face,  a  scanty  growth  of  blonde  beard  and  moustache  fail- 
ing to  hide  the  receding  chin  and  the  red  sealing-wax  lips  ; 
his  faded  yellow  hair  was  beginning  to  grow  thin  on  the 
crown  ;  and  his  threadbare  frock-coat  hung  limp  from  his 
sloping  shoulders.  But  his  voice  was  bell-like  ;  into  it  no 
trace  of  doubt  ever  seemed  to  come,  and  his  mind  was 


196  ESTHER  WATERS 

neatly  packed  with  a  few  religious  and  political  ideas. 
These  were  the  man^  and  he  had  already  begun  to  wonder 
what  were  Esther's  religious  beliefs.  He  had  been  in 
business  in  the  West  End^  but  an  unrestrained  desire  to 
ask  every  customer  if  he  were  sure  he  believed  in  the 
second  coming  of  Christ  had  been  the  cause  of  his  dis- 
missal, and  so  it  was  that  he  kept  himself  from  questioning 
Esther.  But  at  the  end  of  a  certain  week  they  were  alone 
in  the  shop  ;  Esther  had  come  for  a  packet  of  note-paper. 
Fred  was  sorry  she  had  not  come  for  semion  paper  ;  if  she 
had  it  would  have  been  easier  to  inquire  her  opinions 
regarding  the  second  coming.  But  the  opportunity,  such 
as  it  was,  was  not  to  be  resisted. 

"  Your  mistress  seems  to  use  a  great  deal  of  paper ;  it 
was  only  a  day  or  two  ago  that  I  served  you  with  four 
quires." 

"  That  was  for  her  books ;  what  she  now  wants  is 
note-paper." 

"  So  your  mistress  writes  books  !" 

"  Yes." 

^'  I  hope  they're  good  books — books  that  are  helpful." 
He  paused  to  see  that  no  one  was  within  earshot.  "  Books 
that  bring  sinners  back  to  the  Lord." 

"  I  don't  know  what  she  M-rites  ;  I  only  know  she  writes 
books  ;  I  think  I've  heard  she  writes  novels." 

Fred  did  not  approve  of  novels  —  Esther  could  see 
that — and  she  was  sorry  ;  for  he  seemed  a  nice,  well- 
spoken  young  man,  and  she  would  have  liked  to  tell  him 
that  her  mistress  was  not  one  who  would  write  anything 
that  could  do  harm  to  anybody.  But  her  mistress  was 
waiting  for  her  paper,  and  she  took  leave  of  him  hastily. 
The  next  time  they  met  was  in  the  evening.  She  was 
going  to  see  if  she  could  get  some  fresh  eggs  for  her 
mistress's  breakfast  before  the  shops  closed,  and  coming 
towards  her,  walking  at  a  great  pace,  she  saw  one  whom 


ESTHER  WATERS  197 

she  thought  she  recognised,  a  meagre  little  man  with  long 
reddish  hair  curling  under  the  brim  of  a  large  soft  black 
hat.     He  nodded,  smiling  pleasantly  as  he  passed  her. 

''  Lor',''  she  thought,  '^  I  didn't  know  him ;  it's  the 
stationer's  foreman."  And  the  very  next  evening  they 
met  in  the  same  street ;  she  being  out  for  a  little  walk, 
and  he  hurrying  to  catch  his  train.  And  three  days  after 
they  met  at  the  same  time,  and  as  nearly  as  possible  at  the 
same  place. 

"  We're  always  meeting,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  isn't  it  strange  ?  You  come  this  way  from 
business  ?"  she  answered. 

"  Yes  ;  about  eight  o'clock  is  my  time." 

It  was  at  the  end  of  August ;  the  stars  were  catching 
fire  slowly  in  the  murky  London  sunset  ;  and,  vaguely 
conscious  of  a  feeling  of  surprise  at  the  pleasure  they  took 
in  each  other's  company,  they  wandered  round  a  little 
bleak  square  in  which  a  few  shrubs  had  just  been  planted. 
"  I'm  sorry  the  paper  isn't  going  to  be  put  to  better  use," 
Fred  said,  taking  up  the  conversation  exactly  at  the  point 
where  it  had  broken  off. 

"  You  don't  know  my  mistress,  or  you  wouldn't  say  that." 

"  Perhaps  you  haven't  considered  that  novels  are  very 
often  stories  about  the  loves  of  men  for  other  men's  wives. 
Such  books  can  serve  no  good  purpose." 

"  I'm  sure  my  mistress  don't  write  about  such  things. 
How  could  she,  poor  dear  innocent  lamb.'*  It  is  easy  to 
see  you  don't  know  her."  In  the  course  of  their  argument 
it  transpired  that  Miss  Rice  went  to  neither  church  nor 
chapel.  Fred  was  much  shocked.  "  I  hope,"  he  said, 
"you  do  not  follow  your  mistress's  example."  Esther 
admitted  she  had  for  some  time  past  neglected  her 
religion,  and  Fred  went  so  far  as  to  put  it  forward  as  her 
duty  to  leave  her  present  situation  and  enter  a  trulv 
religious  family. 


198  ESTHER  WATERS 

"  I  owe  her  too  much  ever  to  thmk  of  leaving  her.  And 
it  has  nothing  to  do  with  her  if  I  haven't  thought  as  much 
about  the  Lord  as  I  ought  to  have.  It's  the  first  place 
I've  been  in  where  there  was  time  for  religion." 

This  answer  seemed  to  satisfy  Fred. 

"Where  did  you  used  to  go  ?" 

"  My  people — father  and  mother — belonged  to  the 
Brethren." 

"  To  the  Close  or  the  Open  ?" 

"  I  don't  remember ;  I  was  only  a  little  child  at  the 
time." 

"  I'm  a  Plymouth  Brother." 

^'W^ellj  that  is  strange." 

''  Do  not  forget  that  it  is  only  through  behef  in  our 
Lord,  in  the  sacrifice  of  the  Cross,  that  we  can  be  saved." 

^'  Yes,  I  believe  that." 

The  avowal  seemed  to  have  brought  them  strangely 
near  to  each  other,  and  on  the  following  Sunday  Fred 
took  Esther  to  meeting,  and  introduced  her  as  one  who 
had  strayed,  but  who  had  never  ceased  to  be  one  of 
them. 

She  had  not  been  to  meeting  since  she  was  a  little 
child ;  and  the  bare  room  and  bare  dogma,  in  such  im- 
mediate s}Tnpathy  with  her  own  nature — were  they  not 
associated  with  memories  of  home,  of  father  and  mother, 
of  all  that  had  gone  ? — touched  her  with  a  delight  that 
w^ent  to  the  roots  of  her  nature.  Fred  was  the  preacher 
on  this  occasion,  and  he  spoke  of  the  second  coming  of 
Christ,  when  the  faithful  would  be  carried  away  in  clouds 
of  glory,  of  the  rapine  and  carnage  to  which  the  world 
would  be  delivered  up  before  final  absorption  in  ever- 
lasting hell.  A  sense  of  awe  and  dread  passed  over  the 
listening  faces,  and  a  young  girl  who  sat  with  closed  eyes 
put  out  her  hand  to  assure  herself  that  Esther  was  still 
there.     And  as  thev  walked  home,  Esther  told  Fred  that 


ESTHER  WATERS  199 

she  hadn't  been  happy  for  a  long  time,  not  so  happy.  He 
pressed  her  hand,  and  thanked  her  with  a  look  in  which 
appeared  all  his  soul ;  she  was  his  for  ever  and  ever  ; 
nothing  could  wholly  disassociate  them,  for  he  had  saved 
her.  His  exaltation  moved  her  to  wonder.  But  her  own 
innate  faith  had  supported  her  during  many  a  troublous 
year,  and  though  she  did  not  share  Fred's  exaltations  she 
understood  them.  But  Fred  would  want  her  to  come  to 
meeting  with  him  next  Sunday,  and  she  was  going  to 
Dulwich.  Sooner  or  later  he  would  find  out  that  she  had 
a  child,  then  she  would  see  him  no  more.  That  child 
came  between  her  and  every  chance  of  settling  herself. 
It  were  better  to  break  with  Fred.  But  what  excuse  could 
she  give  ?  Everything  went  wrong  with  her.  He  might 
ask  her  to  marry  him,  and  then  she  would  have  to  tell 
him. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  week  she  heard  some  one  tap  at 
the  window  ;  it  was  Fred.  He  asked  her  why  he  had  not 
seen  her,  and  she  answered  that  she  hadn't  had  the  time. 

"  Can  you  come  out  this  evening  ?" 

"Yes,  if  you  like." 

She  put  on  her  hat,  and  they  went  out,  their  feet 
taking  the  pavement  instinctively  that  led  to  the  little 
square  where  they  had  walked  the  first  time  they  went 
out  together. 

"  Fve  been  thinking  of  you  a  good  deal,  Esther,  in  the 
last  few  days.     I  want  to  ask  you  to  marry  me." 

Esther  did  not  answer. 

"Will  you  ?"  he  said. 

"  I  can't ;  Fm  very  sorry  ;  don't  ask  me." 

"  Why  can't  you  ?" 

"  If  I  told  you  I  don't  think  you'd  want  to  marry  me. 
But  I  suppose  I'd  better  tell  you.  I'm  not  the  good 
woman  you  think  me.  Fve  got  a  child.  There,  you  have 
it  now,  and  you  can  take  your  hook  when  you  like." 


200  ESTHER  WATERS 

It  was  her  blunt^  sullen  nature  that  had  spoken,  she 
didn't  care  if  he  left  her  on  the  spot — now  he  knew  all 
and  could  do  as  he  liked.     At  last  he  said  : 

"  But  you've  repented^  Esther  ?" 

"  I  should  think  I  had^  and  been  punished  too^  enough 
for  a  dozen  children." 

"■  Ah^  then  it  wasn't  lately  ?" 

^^  Lately  !     It's  nearly  eight  year  ago." 

"  And  all  that  time  you've  been  a  good  woman  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  I've  been  that." 

^^  Then  if " 

"  I  don't  want  no  ifs.  If  I  am  not  good  enough  for  you, 
you  can  go  elsewhere  and  get  better  ;  I've  had  enough  of 
reproaches." 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  reproach  you  ;  I  know  that  a 
woman's  path  is  more  difficult  to  walk  in  than  ours.  It 
may  not  be  a  woman's  fault  if  she  falls,  but  it  is  always  a 
man's.      He  can  always  fly  from  temptation." 

"  Yet  there  isn't  a  man  that  can  say  he  hasn't  gone 
wrong." 

'^No,  not  all,  Esther." 

Esther  looked  him  full  in  the  face. 

"  I  understand  what  you  mean,  Esther,  but  I  can 
honestly  say  that  I  never  have." 

Esther  did  not  like  him  any  better  for  his  purity,  and 
was  irritated  by  the  clear  tones  of  his  icy  voice. 

'^^But  that  is  no  reason  why  I  should  be  'ard  on  those 
who  have  not  been  so  fortunate.  I  didn't  mean  to 
reproach  you  just  now,  Esther  ;  I  only  meant  to  say  that  I 
wish  you  'ad  told  me  this  before  I  took  you  to  meeting." 

''  So  you're  ashamed  of  me,  is  that  it  ?  Well,  you  can 
keep  your  shame  to  yourself" 

''  No,  not  that,  Esther " 

"  Then  you'd  like  to  see  me  humiliated  before  the  others, 
as  if  I  haven't  'ad  enough  of  that  already." 


ESTHER  WATERS  201 

^^No,  Esther,  listen  to  me.  Those  who  transgress  the 
moral  law  may  not  kneel  at  the  table  for  a  time,  until 
they  have  repented  ;  but  those  who  believe  in  the  sacrifice 
of  the  Cross  are  acquitted,  and  I  believe  you  do  that." 

"Yes." 

"  A  sinner  that  repenteth I  will  speak  about  this 

at  our  next  meeting  ;  you  will  come  with  me  ?" 

"  Next  Sunday  I'm  going  to  Dulwich  to  see  the  child." 

"  Can't  you  go  after  meeting  ?" 

"No,  I  can't  be  out  morning  and  afternoon  both." 

"  May  I  go  with  you  ?" 

"To  Dulwich!" 

"  You  won't  go  until  after  meeting ;  I  can  meet  you  at 
the  railway  station." 

"If  you  like." 

As  they  walked  home  Esther  told  Fred  the  story  of  her 
betrayal,  and  he  was  interested  in  the  story,  and  sorry 
for  her. 

"  I  love  you,  Esther,  and  it  is  easy  to  forgive  those  we 
love." 

"  You're  very  good ;  I  never  thought  to  find  a  man  so 
good."  She  looked  up  in  his  face  ;  her  hand  was  on  the 
gate,  and  in  that  moment  she  felt  that  she  almost  loved 
him. 

XXIV. 

An  elderly  person  who  looked  after  a  bachelor's  establish- 
ment two  doors  up,  Mrs.  Humphries,  who  often  ran  in 
about  tea-time,  soon  began  to  speak  of  Fred  as  a  very  nice 
young  man  who  would  be  likely  to  make  a  woman  happy. 
But  Esther  moved  about  the  kitchen  in  her  taciturn  way, 
hardly  answering.  Suddenly  she  told  Mrs.  Humphries 
that  she  had  been  to  Dulwich  with  him,  and  that  it  was 
wonderful  how  he  and  Jackie  had  taken  to  one  another, 


202  ESTHER  WATERS 

''  You  don't  say  so !  Well,  it  is  nice  to  find  them 
religious  folks  less  'ard-'earted  than  they  gets  the 
name  of." 

Mrs.  Humphries  was  of  the  opinion  that  henceforth 
Esther  should  give  herself  out  as  Jackie's  aunt.  "  None 
believe  them  stories,  but  they  make  one  seem  more 
respectable  like,  and  I  am  sure  Mr.  Parsons  will  think  so 
too."  Esther  did  not  answer,  but  she  thought  of  what  Mrs. 
Humphries  had  said,  and  that  it  might  be  better  if  Jackie 
were  to  leave  off  calling  her  Mummie.  Auntie  !  But  no, 
she  could  not  bear  it.  Fred  must  take  her  as  she  was  or 
not  at  all.  Why  shouldn't  he  ?  They  seemed  to  under- 
stand each  other,  and  he  was  earning  good  money,  thirty 
shillings  a  week  ;  she  was  now  going  on  for  eight-and- 
twenty,  and  if  she  was  ever  going  to  be  married  it  was 
time  to  think  about  it. 

"  I  don't  know  how  that  dear  soul  will  get  on  without 
me,  she  said  one  October  morning  as  they  jogged  out  of 
London  by  a  slow  train  from  St.  Paul's,  for  Fred  was  taking 
her  into  Kent  to  see  his  people. 

"  How  do  you  expect  me  to  get  on  without  you  ?" 

Esther  laughed. 

"Trust  you  to  manage  somehow.  There  ain't  much 
fear  "of  a  man  not  looking  after  his  little  self" 

"  But  the  old  folk  will  want  to  know  when.  What 
shall  I  tell  them .?" 

"This  time  next  year  ;  that'll  be  soon  enough.  Perhaps 
you'll  get  tired  of  me  before  then." 

"Say  next  spring,  Esther." 

The  train  stopped. 

"  There's  father  waiting  for  us  in  the  spring-cart. 
Father !  He  don't  hear  us.  He's  gone  a  bit  deaf  of  late 
years.     Father !" 

"  Ah,  so  here  you  are.     Train  late." 

"This  is  Esther,  father." 


ESTHER  WATERS  203 

"  And  we  be  right  glad  to  see  you.     Now  if  you'll  jump 
into  the  cart,  we'll  be  at  the  farm  in  ten  minutes'  time." 

"The  old  pony  is  going  as  well  as  ever,  father?"  Fred 
asked. 

^^  Much  the  same,  but  none  of  us  be  younger  than  we 
were,"  Esther  heard  the  old  man  say,  and  the  words 
stirred  her  to  remember  her  own  age  and  that  she  was 
going  to  be  introduced  to  Fred's  sisters  and  to  his  brother. 
But  these  did  not  concern  her  much,  her  thoughts  were 
set  on  Mrs.  Parsons,  Fred  having  spoken  a  great  deal 
about  his  mother,  telling  her  that  when  she  was  told  about 
Jackie  she  was  of  course  very  sorry;  but  that  when  she 
heard  the  whole  of  Esther's  story  she  had  said,  "  We  are  all 
born  into  temptation,  and  if  your  Esther  has  really  repented 
and  prayed  to  be  forgiven,  we  must  not  say  nay  to  her." 
All  the  same,  Esther  was  not  quite  easy  in  her  mind,  and 
half  regretted  she  had  consented  to  see  Fred's  people 
until  he  had  made  her  his  wife.  But  it  was  too  late  to 
think  of  such  things.  Fred  had  just  pointed  to  the  farm- 
house, over  yonder,  and,  scenting  his  stable,  the  old  grey 
pony  ascended  the  hill  at  a  trot.  "  We  had  a  fine  show  of 
flowers  all  tire  summer,  but  there's  no  more  than  a  few 
Michaelmas  daisies  left,"  the  old  man  said,  and  Esther 
admired  the  Virginia  creeper  that  covered  one  side  of  the 
house  with  a  crimson  mantle,  while  Parsons  answered  Fred 
that  he  would  take  the  trap  round  to  the  stable,  and  this 
being  settled  Fred  led  the  way  up  the  red-bricked  pave- 
ment and  lifting  the  latch  they  passed  through  the  kitchen, 
Fred  introducing  Esther  to  his  two  sisters,  Mary  and  Lily, 
who  were  busy  cooking. 

'*  Mother  is  in  the  parlour,"  said  Mary  ;  ^'  she  is  waiting 
for  you." 

And  by  the  window  they  found  her  sitting  in  a  wide 
wooden  arm-chair,  a  large  woman  about  sixty,  dressed  in 
black,  wearing  on  either  side  of  her  long  white  face  two 


204  ESTHER  WATERS 

corkscrew  curls,  which  gave  her  a  somewhat  ridiculous 
appearance.  But  when  she  rose  from  her  chair  to  greet  her 
son  she  ceased  to  be  ridiculous  or  grotesque,  for  her  face 
beamed,  and  she  held  out  her  hands  in  a  beautiful  gesture 
of  welcome. 

"  Oh,  hoAv  do  you  do,  dear  Fred  ?  I  am  that  glad  to  see 
you  !  How  good  of  you  to  come  all  this  way  !  Come  and 
sit  ye  down  by  me." 

"  Mother,  this  is  Esther." 

"  How  do  you  do,  Esther  ?  It  was  good  of  you  to  come, 
I  am  glad  to  see  you.  Let  me  get  you  a  chair.  Take  off 
your  things,  dear;  come  and  sit  by  me." 

She  insisted  on  relieving  Esther  of  her  hat  and  jacket, 
and,  having  laid  them  on  the  sofa,  she  waddled  across  the 
room,  drawing  over  two  chairs. 

^^  Come  and  sit  ye  down  ;  you'll  tell  me  everything.  I 
can't  get  about  much  now,  but  I  like  to  have  my  children 
round  me.  Take  this  chair,  Esther."  Then  turning  to 
Fred,  "  Tell  me,  Fred,  how  you've  been  getting  on.  Are 
you  still  living  at  'ackney  ?" 

"  Yes,  mother ;  but  when  we're  married  we're  going 
to  have  a  cottage  at  Mortlake.  Esther  will  like  it  better 
than  'ackney.     It  is  nearer  the  country." 

''  Then  you'ven't  forgotten  the  country.  Mortlake  is 
on  the  river,  I  think.  I  'ope  you  won't  find  it  too 
damp." 

"  No,  mother,  there  are  some  nice  cottages  there.  I 
think  we  shall  find  that  Mortlake  suits  us.  There  are 
many  friends  there ;  more  than  fifty  meet  together  every 
Sunday.  And  there's  a  lot  of  political  work  to  be  done 
there.  I  know  that  you're  against  politics,  but  men 
can't  stand  aside  nowadays.     Times  change,  mother." 

"  So  long  as  we  have  God  in  our  hearts,  my  dear 
boy  all  that  we  do  is  well.  But  you  must  want  something 
ftfter   your  journey.     Fred,   dear,    knock    at    that   door. 


ESTHER  WATERS  205 

Your   sister    Clara's   dressing    there,     lell    her   to  make 
haste." 

"All  right,  mother,"  cried  a  voice  from  behind  the 
partition  which  separated  the  rooms,  and  a  moment  after 
the  door  opened  and  a  young  woman  about  thirty  entered. 
She  was  better-looking  than  the  other  sisters,  and  the 
fashion  of  her  skirt,  and  the  worldly  manner  with  which 
she  kissed  her  brother  and  gave  her  hand  to  Esther, 
marked  her  off  at  once  from  the  rest  of  her  family.  She 
was  forewoman  in  a  large  millinery  establishment,  but  spent 
Saturday  afternoon  and  Sunday  at  the  farm.  To-day  she 
had  got  away  earlier,  and,  with  the  view  to  impressing 
Esther,  she  explained  how  this  had  come  about. 

Mrs.  Parsons  suggested  a  glass  of  currant  wine,  and 
Lily  came  in  with  a  tray  and  glasses.  Clara  said  she  was 
starving.  Mary  said  she  would  have  to  wait,  and  Lily 
whispered,  "  In  about  half-an-hour." 

After  dinner  the  old  man  said  that  they  must  be  getting 
on  with  their  work  in  the  orchard,  and  Esther  answered 
that  she  would  be  glad  to  help,  but  as  she  was  about  to 
follow  the  others  Mrs.  Parsons  detained  her. 

"  You  don't  mind  staying  with  me  a  few  minutes,  do 
you,  dear?  I  shan't  keep  you  long."  She  drew  over  a 
chair  for  Esther.  "  I  shan't  perhaps  see  you  again  for 
some  time.  I  am  getting  an  old  woman,  and  the  Lord 
may  be  pleased  to  take  me  at  any  moment.  But  I  wanted 
to  tell  you,  dear,  that  I  put  my  trust  in  you.  You'll  make 
a  good  wife  to  Fred,  I  feel  sure,  and  he  will  make  a  good 
father  to  your  child,  and  if  God  blesses  you  with  other 
children  he'll  treat  your  first  no  different  than  the  others. 
He's  told  me  so,  and  my  Fred  is  a  man  of  his  word.  You 
were  led  into  sin,  but  you've  repented.  We  was  all  born 
into  temptation,  and  we  must  trust  to  the  Lord  to  lead 
us  out  lest  we  should  dash  our  foot  against  a  stone." 
"  I  was  to  blame  ;  I  don't  say  I  wasn't,  but " 


206  ESTHER  WATERS 

"We  won't  say  no  more  about  that.  We're  all  sinners, 
the  best  of  us.  You're  going  to  be  my  son's  wife  ;  you're 
therefore  my  daughter,  and  this  house  is  your  home 
whenever  you  please  to  come  to  see  us.  And  I  hope  that 
that  will  be  often.  I  like  to  have  my  children  about  me.  I 
can't  get  about  much  now,  so  they  must  come  to  me.  It 
is  very  sad  not  to  be  able  to  go  to  meeting.  I've  not 
been  to  meeting  since  Christmas,  but  I  can  see  them 
going  there  from  the  kitchen  window,  and  how  'appy  they 
look  coming  back  from  prayer.  It  is  easy  to  see  that 
they  have  been  with  God.  The  Salvationists  come  this 
way  sometimes.  They  stopped  in  the  lane  to  sing.  I 
could  not  hear  the  words,  but  I  could  see  by  their  faces  that 
they  was  with  God.  Now,  I've  told  all  that  was  on  my 
mind.     I  must  not  keep  you  ;  Fred  is  waiting  for  you." 

Esther  kissed  the  old  woman,  and  went  into  the  orchard, 
where  she  found  Fred  on  a  ladder  shaking  the  branches. 
He  came  down  when  he  saw  Esther,  and  Harry,  his 
brother,  took  his  place.  Esther  and  Fred  filled  one 
basket,  and  then,  yielding  to  a  mutual  inclination,  they 
wandered  about  the  orchard,  stopping  on  the  little  plank 
bridge,  speaking  hardly  at  all,  words  seeming  unnecessary  ; 
each  felt  happiness  to  be  a  mutual  possession.  Apart  they 
would  be  blind  and  deaf,  but  together  they  heard  the 
water  trickling  through  the  weeds,  and  the  sound  of  apples 
falling  in  the  dusk,  and  a  breeze  shivered  among  the  tops 
of  the  apple-trees  and  sered  leaves  were  blown  from  the 
branches.  As  the  gatherers  crossed  the  plank  bridge  they 
put  jokes  on  the  lovers,  who  stood  aside  to  let  them  pass. 

And  when  all  and  sundry  entered  the  house  they  saw 
the  old  farmer,  who  had  slipped  in  before  them,  sitting  by 
his  wife  holding  her  hand,  patting  it  in  a  curious  old-time 
way,  and  the  attitude  of  the  old  couple  was  so  pregnant 
with  significance  that  it  fixed  itself  on  Esther's  mind.  It 
seemed    to    her    that    she    had    never   seen   anything    so 


ESTHER  WATERS  207 

beautiful.  "  So  they  have  lived  for  forty  years/'  she  said 
to  herself^  "  faithful  to  each  other/'  and  she  wondered  if 
Fred  forty  years  hence  would  be  sitting  by  her  side  hold- 
ing her  hand. 

"  Of  what  are  you  thinking,  Esther  ?"  Fred  asked.  And 
not  knowing  v/hat  answer  to  make  him  she  said  :  "  It 
must  be  near  time  to  be  getting  home." 

"  Are  you  tired  of  us  already  ?"  Mrs.  Parsons  asked. 
Fred  interposed,  and  the  old  man  lighted  a  lantern,  went 
round  to  the  stable  to  get  a  trap  out,  and  drove  them 
through  the  dark  country.  A  peasant  came  like  a  ghost 
out  of  the  darkness  :  he  stepped  aside  and  called,  "  Good- 
night !"  which  the  old  farmer  echoed  somewhat  gruffly, 
while  Fred  answered  in  a  ringing,  cheery  tone. 

The  train  rattled  on  through  suburbs  beginning  far 
away  in  the  country;  rattled  on  through  suburbs  that 
thickened  at  every  mile ;  rattled  on  through  a  brick 
entanglement ;  rattled  over  iron  bridges,  rattled  on  over 
deep  streets,  over  endless  lines  of  lights. 

He  bade  her  good-bye  at  the  area  gate  on  a  promise  that 
they  should  be  married  in  the  spring.  She  ran  upstairs 
to  tell  her  dear  mistress  of  the  happy  day  which  her  kind- 
ness had  allowed  her  to  spend  in  the  country,  and  Miss 
Rice  laid  the  book  she  was  reading  on  her  knees  to  listen 
to  Esther's  pleasures  as  if  they  were  her  own. 

XXV. 

But  when  the  spring  came  Esther  put  Fred  off  till  the 
autumn,  pleading  as  an  excuse  that  Miss  Rice  had  not  been 
very  well  lately,  and  that  she  did  not  like  to  leave  her. 

It  was  one  of  those  long  and  pallid  evenings  at  the  end 
of  July,  when  the  sky  seems  as  if  it  could  not  darken. 
The  roadway  was  very  still  in  its  dust  and  heat,  and  Esther, 
her  print  dress  trailing,  watched  a  poor  horse  striving  to 


208  ESTHER  WATERS 

pull  a  four-wheeler  through  the  loose  heavy  gravel  that 
had  just  been  laid  down.  And  so  absorbed  was  she  in  her 
pity  for  the  poor  animal  that  she  did  not  see  the  gaunt, 
broad-shouldered  man  coming  towards  her,  looking  very 
long-legged  in  a  pair  of  light  grey  trousers  and  a  black 
jacket  a  little  too  short  for  him.  He  walked  with  long, 
even  strides,  a  small  cane  in  one  hand,  the  other  in  his 
trousers  pocket;  a  heavy  gold  chain  showed  across  his 
waistcoat.  He  wore  a  round  bowler  hat  and  she  caught 
sight  of  a  red  necktie.  The  side  whiskers  and  the  shaven 
upper  lip  gave  him  the  appearance  of  a  gentleman's  valet. 
She  took  him  for  such  as  he  went  by  without  noticing 
Esther,  but  a  sudden  step  taken  sideways  as  she  lingered, 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  cab-horse,  brought  her  into  collision 
with  him. 

"  Do  look  where  you  are  going  to,"  he  exclaimed, 
jumping  back  to  avoid  the  beer-jug,  which  fell  to  the 
ground.     ''  What,  Esther,  is  it  you?" 

"  There,  you  have  made  me  drop  the  beer." 

"  Plenty  more  in  the  public  ;  I'll  get  you  another  jug." 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you,  but  I  can  get  what  I  want 
myself." 

They  looked  at  each  other,  and  at  the  end  of  a  long 
silence  William  said  :  "  Just  fancy  meeting  you,  and  in  this 
way !     Well  I  never  !     I  am  glad  to  see  you  again." 

"  Are  you  really  !  Well,  so  much  for  that — your  way 
and  mine  aren't  the  same.       I  wish  you  good  evening." 

"  Stop  a  moment,  Esther." 

"  And  my  mistress  waiting  for  her  dinner.  I've  to  go 
and  get  some  more  beer." 

"Shall  I  wait  for  you?" 

"  Wait  for  me  !     I  should  think  not,  indeed." 

Esther  ran  down  the  area  steps.  Her  hand  paused  as  it 
was  about  to  lift  the  jug  down  from  the  dresser,  and  a 
number  of  thoughts  fled  across  her  mind.     That  man  would 


ESTHER  WATERS  209 

be  waiting  for  her  outside.  What  was  she  to  do  ?  How 
unfortunate !  If  he  continued  to  come  after  her  he  and 
Fred  would  be  sure  to  meet. 

'^  What  are  you  waiting  for,  I  should  like  to  know  ?"  she 
cried,  as  she  came  up  the  steps. 

"  That's  'ardly  civil,  Esther,  and  after  so  many  years  too  ; 

one  would  think " 

''  I  want  none  of  your  thinking ;    get  out  of  my  sight. 
Do   you    'ear  ?      I  want   no   truck    with    you    whatever 
Haven't  you  done  me  enough  mischief  already  ?" 
"  Be  quiet ;  listen  to  me.     I'll  explain." 
"  I  don't  want  none  of  your  explanation.     Go  away." 
Her  whole  nature  was  now  in  full  revolt,  and  quick  with 
passionate   remembrance  of  the  injustice  that  had  been 
done  her,  she  drew  back   from  him,   her  eyes  flashing, 
and  it  may  have  been  some  passing  remembrance  of  the 
breakage  of  the  first  beer-jug  that  prevented   her  from 
striking  him  with  the  second.      The  spasm  passed,  and 
then  her  rage,  instead  of  venting  itself  in  violent  action, 
assumed  the  form  of  dogged  silence.     She  handed  the  jug 
across  the  counter,  and  while  the   barman  filled  it  she 
searched  her  pocket  for  the  money.    She  had  brought  none 
with  her.     William  produced  sixpence.     Esther  answered 
him    with    a   quick,    angry   glance,    and    addressing   the 
barman,  she  said,  "  I'll  pay  you  to-morrow ;  that'll  do,  I 
suppose?     41  Avondale  Road." 

"  That  will  be  all  right,  but  what  am  I  to  do  with  this 
sixpence  ?" 

"I  know  nothing  about  that,"  Esther  said,  picking  up 
her  skirt ;  ^'  I'll  pay  you  for  what  I  have  had." 

Holding  the  sixpence  in  his  short,  thick,  and  wet 
fingers,  the  barman  looked  at  William.  William  smiled, 
and  said,  ''  Well,  they  do  run  sulky  sometimes." 

He  caught  at  the  leather  strap  and  pulled  the  door  open 
for  her,  and  as  she  passed  out  she  became  aware  that 

p 


210  ESTHER  VVATEIIS 

William  still  admired  her.  Having  ruined  her  life,  this 
man  passed  out  of  sight  and  knowledge,  but  only  to 
reappear  when  a  new  road  leading  to  a  new  life  seemed 
open  before  her.     Her  temper  flamed  in  her  face. 

"  It  was  that  temper  of  yours  that  did  it ;  you  wouldn't 
speak  to  me  for  a  fortnight.  You  haven't  changed,  I  can 
see  that,"  he  said,  watching  Esther's  face,  which  did  not 
alter  until  he  spoke  of  how  unhappy  he  had  been  in  his 
marriage.  "  A  regular  brute  she  was — we're  no  longer  to- 
gether, you  know  ;  haven't  been  for  the  last  three  years ; 
couldn't  put  up  with  'er.  She  was  that — but  that's  a 
long  story."  Esther  did  not  answer  him.  He  looked  at  her, 
and  seeing  that  she  would  not  be  won  over  easily,  he 
spoke  of  his  money. 

"Look  'ere,  Esther,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  the 
area  gate.  '^  You  won't  refuse  to  come  out  with  me  some 
Sunday.  I've  a  half  a  share  in  a  public-house,  the  '  King's 
Head,'  and  have  been  backing  winners  all  this  year.  I've 
plenty  of  money  to  treat  you.  I  should  like  to  make  it  up 
to  you  for  you've  'ad  rather  a  'ard  time.  Now  tell  me,  what 
'ave  yer  been  doing  all  these  years  ?     I  want  to  'ear." 

"  What  'ave  I  been  doing  ?  Trying  to  bring  up  your 
child !     That's  what  I've  been  doing." 

"  There's  a  child,  then  ?"  said  William,  taken  aback,  and 
before  he  could  recover  himself  Esther  dodged  past  him 
down  the  area  into  the  house.  For  a  moment  he  looked 
as  if  he  were  going  to  follow  her  ;  his  mind  changed,  he 
lingered  a  moment,  and  then  walked  slowly  away  in  the 
direction  of  the  Metropolitan  Railway. 

"  Pm  sorry  to  'ave  kept  you  waiting,  miss,  but  I  met 

with  an  accident  and  had  to  come  back  for  another  jug." 

"  And  what  was  the  accident  you  met  with,  Esther?" 

"  I  wasn't  paying  no  attention,  miss  ;  but  w^as  looking  at 

a  cab  that   could  'ardly  get   through   the  stones  they've 

been  laying  down  in  the  Pembroke  Road ;  the  poor  little 


ESTHER  WATERS  211 

'orse  was  pulling  that  'ard  that  I  thought  he'd  drop  down 
dead,  and  while  I  was  looking  I  ran  up  against  a  passer- 
by, and  being  a  bit  taken  aback  I  dropped  the  jug." 
"  How  was  that?     Did  you  know  the  passer-by  ?" 
Esther  busied  herself  with  the  dishes  on  the  sideboard 
and    divining   that  something   serious   had    happened    to 
her  servant,  Miss  Rice  refrained  and  allowed  the  dinner  to 
pass  in  silence.     Half-an-hour  later  Esther  came  into  the 
study  with  her  mistress's  tea,  and  as  she  set  the  wicker 
table   by   her   mistress's    knees    the    shadows   about    the 
bookcase  and  the  light  of  the  lamp  upon  the  book  and 
the  pensive   content   on    Miss    Rice's  face   impelled   her 
to  think  of  her  own  troubles,  the  hardship,  the  passion, 
the    despair    of    her    life    compared    with    this    tranquil 
existence.      Never  had  she  felt  more  certain   that   mis- 
fortune   was    inherent    in    her    life,    and    remembering 
all  the  trouble  she  had  had,  she  wondered  how  she  had 
come  out  of  it  all  alive ;  and  now,  just  as  things  seemed 
like  settling,   everything  was  going  to  be  upset  again. 
Fred  was  away  for  a  fortnight's  holiday — she  was  safe  for 
eleven   or   twelve  days.     After  that   she  did   not   know 
what  might  happen.     Her  instinct  told  her  that  although 
he  had  passed  over  her  fault  very  lightly,  so  long  as  he 
knew  nothing  of  the  father  of  her  child,  he  might  not  care 
to   marry   her   if  William  continued  to  come  after  her. 
Ah  !  if  she  hadn't  happened  to  go  out  at  that  particular     ) 
time  she  might  never  have  met  William.      He  didn't  live  ^ 
in  the  neighbourhood  ;  if  he   did  they  would  have  met 
before.     Perhaps  he  had  just  settled  in  the  neighbourhood. 
That  would  be  worst  of  all.     No,  no,  no ;  it  was  a  mere 
accident ;  if  the  cask  of  beer  had  held  out  a  day  or  two 
longer,  or  if  it  had  run  out  a  day  or  two  sooner,  she  might 
never  have  met  William  !     But  now  she  couldn't  keep  out 
of  his  way  and  she  knew  he'd  come  after  her. 

She  was  right.     He  spent  the  whole  of  next  day  in  the 


2ia  ESTHER  WATERS 

street  waiting  for  her.  If  siie  went  out  on  an  errand  he 
followed  her  there  and  back.  If  she'd  only  listen.  She 
was  prettier  than  ever.  He  had  never  cared  for  anyone 
else.  He  would  marry  her  when  he  got  his  divorce,  and 
then  the  child  would  be  theirs.  She  didn't  answer  him,  and 
her  blood  boiled  at  the  word  "theirs."  How  could  Jackie 
become  their  child  ?  Was  it  not  she  who  had  worked 
for  him,  brought  him  up  ?  and  she  thought  as  little  of  his 
paternity  as  if  he  had  fallen  from  heaven  into  her  arms. 

One  evening  as  she  was  laying  the  table  her  grief  took 
her  unawares,  and  she  was  obliged  to  dash  aside  the  tears 
that  had  risen  to  her  eyes.  The  action  was  so  apparent 
that  Miss  Rice  thought  it  would  be  an  affectation  to  ignore 
it.  So  she  said  in  her  kind,  musical,  intimate  manner, 
"  Esther,  I'm  afraid  you  have  some  trouble  on  your  mind  ; 
can  I  do  anything  for  you  ?" 

"No,  miss,  no,  it's  nothing;  I  shall  get  over  it 
presently." 

But  the  effort  of  speaking  was  too  much  for  her,  and  a 
bitter  sob  caught  her  in  the  throat. 

"  You  had  better  tell  me  your  trouble,  Esther  ;  even  if 
I  cannot  help  you  it  will  ease  your  heart  to  tell  me  about 
it.     I  hope  nothing  is  the  matter  with  Jackie  ?" 

"  No,   miiss,    no  ;  thank    God,   he's   well    enough.     It's 

nothing  to  do  with  him  ;  leastways "     Then  with  a 

violent  effort  she  put  back  her  tears.     "  Oh,  it  is  silly  of 
me,"  she  said,  "  and  your  dinner  getting  cold." 

"  I  don't  want  to  pry  into  your  affairs,  Esther,  but  you 
know  that " 

"Yes,  miss,  I  know  you  to  be  kindness  itself;  but 
there's  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  bear  it.  You  asked  me 
just  now  if  it  had  anything  to  do  with  Jackie.  Well,  it  is 
no  more  than  that  his  father  has  come  back." 

"  But  surely,  Esther,  that's  hardly  a  reason  for  sorrow  ; 
I  should  have  thought  that  you  would  have  been  glad," 


ESTHER  WATERS  213 

"It  is  only  natural  that  you  should  think  so,  miss; 
them  what  hasn't  been  through  the  trouble  never  thinks 
the  same  as  them  that  'as.  You  see,  miss,  it's  nearly  nine 
years  since  I've  seen  him,  and  during  them  nine  years  I 
'ave  been  through  so  much.  I  'ave  worked  and  slaved, 
and  been  through  all  the  'ardship,  and  now,  when  the 
worst  is  over,  he  comes  and  wants  me  to  marry  him  when 
he  gets  his  divorce." 

"Then  you  like  someone  else  better  ?" 

"  Yes,  miss,  I  do,  and  what  makes  it  so  'ard  to  bear  is 
that  for  the  last  two  months  or  more  I've  been  keeping 
company  with  Fred  Parsons — that's  the  stationer's  as- 
sistant ;  you've  seen  him  in  the  shop,  miss — and  he  and 
me  is  engaged  to  be  married.  He's  earning  good  money, 
thirty  shillings  a  week  ;  he's  as  good  a  young  man  as  ever 
stepped — religious,  kind-hearted,  everything  as  would  make 
a  woman  'appy  in  'er  'ome.  It  is  'ard  for  a  girl  to  keep  up 
with  'er  religion  in  some  of  the  situations  we  have  to  put 
up  with,  and  I'd  mostly  got  out  of  the  habit  of  chapel-going 
till  I  met  him ;  it  was  'e  who  led  me  back  again  to  Christ. 
But  for  all  that,  understanding  very  well,  not  to  say 
indulgent  for  the  failings  of  others,  like  yourself,  miss.  He 
knew  all  about  Jackie  from  the  first,  and  never  said  nothing 
about  it,  but  that  I  must  have  suffered  cruel,  which  I  have. 
He's  been  with  me  to  see  Jackie,  and  they  both  took  to 
each  other  wonderful  like  ;  it  couldn't  'ave  been  more  so  if 
'e'd  been  'is  own  father.  But  now  all  that's  broke  up,  for 
when  Fred  meets  William  it  is  as  likely  as  not  as  he'll 
think  quite  different." 

The  evening  died  behind  the  red-brick  suburb,  and 
Miss  Rice's  strip  of  garden  grew  greener.  She  had 
finished  her  dinner,  and  she  leaned  back  thinking  of  the 
story  she  had  heard.  She  was  one  of  those  secluded 
maiden  ladies  so  common  in  England,  whose  experience  of 
life  is  limited  to  a  tea-party,  and  whose  further  knowledge 


214  ESTHER  WATERS 

of  life  is  derived  from  the  yellow-backed  French  novels 
which  fill  their  bookcases. 

"  How  was  it  that  you  happened  to  meet  William — I 
think  )^ou  said  his  name  was  William  ?" 

"  It  was  the  day,  miss,  that  I  went  to  fetch  the  beer 
from  the  public-house.  It  was  he  that  made  me  drop  the 
jug ;  you  remember,  miss,  I  had  to  come  back  for  another. 
I  told  you  about  it  at  the  time.  When  I  w^ent  out  again 
with  a  fresh  jug  he  w^as  waiting  for  me,  he  followed  me  to 
the  '  Greyhound '  and  wanted  to  pay  for  the  beer — not 
likely  that  I'd  let  him.  So  I  told  them  to  put  it  on  the 
slate,  saying  I'd  pay  for  it  to-morrow,  and  didn't  speak  to 
him  on  leaving  the  bar,  but  he  followed  me  to  the  gate.  He 
wanted  to  know  what  I'd  been  doing  all  the  time.  My 
temper  got  the  better  of  me,  and  I  says,  '  Looking  after 
your  child.'  '  My  child  !'  says  he.  '  So  there's  a  child, 
is  there?'" 

"  I  think  you  told  me  that  he  married  one  of  the  young 
ladies  at  the  place  you  were  then  in  situation  ?" 

"  Young  lady !  No  fear,  she  wasn't  no  young  lady. 
Anyway,  she  was  too  good  or  too  bad  for  him ;  for  they 
didn't  get  on,  and  are  now  living  separate." 

"  Does  he  speak  about  the  child  ?  Does  he  ask  to  see 
him  ?" 

''  Lor',  yes,  miss ;  he'd  the  cheek  to  say  the  other 
day  that  we'd  make  him  our  child — our  child,  indeed  ! 
and  after  all  these  years  I've  been  working  and  he  doing 
nothing." 

"  Perhaps  he  might  like  to  do  something  for  him  ! 
perhaps  that's  what  he's  thinking  of." 

"  No,  miss,  I  know  him  better  than  that.  For  that's  his 
cunning  ;  he  thinks  he'll  get  me  through  the  child." 

"  In  any  case  I  don't  see  what  you'll  gain  by  refusing  to 
speak  to  him  ;  if  you  want  to  do  something  for  the  child, 
you  can." 


ESTHER  WATERS  215 

"  I  don't  want  his  money  ;  please  God,  we'll  be  able  to 
do  without  it  to  the  end." 

''  If  I  were  to  die  to-morrow,  Esther,  remember  that  you 
would  be  in  exactly  the  same  position  as  you  were  when 
you  entered  my  service.  You  remember  what  that  was  ? 
You  have  often  told  me  there  was  only  eighteenpence 
between  you  and  the  workhouse  ;  you  owed  Mrs.  Lewis 
two  weeks'  money  for  the  support  of  the  child.  I  daresay 
you've  saved  a  little  money  since  you've  been  with  me, 
but  it  cannot  be  more  than  a  few  pounds.  I  don't  think 
that  you  ought  to  let  this  chance  slip  through  your  fingers, 
if  not  for  your  own  for  Jackie's  sake.  William,  according  to 
his  own  account,  is  making  money.  He  may  become  a 
rich  man  ;  he  has  no  children  by  his  wife  ;  he  might  like 
to  leave  some  of  his  money — in  any  case,  he'd  like  to 
leave  something — to  Jackie." 

"  He  was  always  given  to  boasting  about  money.  I 
don't  believe  all  he  says  about  money  or  anything  else." 

"That  may  be,  but  he  may  have  money,  and  you 
have  no  right  to  refuse  to  allow  him  to  provide  for  Jackie. 
Supposing  later  on  Jackie  were  to  reproach  you?" 

"  Jackie'd  never  do  that,  miss  ;  he'd  know  I  acted  for 
the  best." 

"  If  you  again  found  yourself  out  of  a  situation,  and  saw 
Jackie  crying  for  his  dinner,  you'd  reproach  yourself." 
"  I  don't  think  I  should,  miss." 

"I  know  you  ^re  very  obstinate,  Esther.  When  does 
Parsons  return  ?" 

"  In  about  a  week,  miss." 

"  Without  telling  William  anything  about  Parsons, 
you'll  be  able  to  find  out  whether  it  is  his  intention  to 
interfere  in  your  life.  I  quite  agree  with  you  that  it 
is  important  that  the  two  men  should  not  meet ;  but  it 
seems  to  me,  by  refusing  to  speak  to  William,  and  by 
refusing  to  let  him  see  Jackie,  you're  doing  all  you  can  to 


216  ESTHER  WATERS 

bring  about  the  meeting  that  you  wish  to  avoid.  Is  he 
much  about  here  ?" 

"  Yes,  miss,  he  seems  hardly  ever  out  of  the  street, 
and  it  do  look  so  bad  for  the  'ouse.  I  do  feel  that  ashamed. 
Since  I've  been  with  you,  miss,  I  don't  think  you've  'ad  to 
complain  of  followers." 

"  Well,  don't  you  see,  you  foolish  girl,  that  he'll  remain 
hanging  about,  and  the  moment  Parsons  comes  back  he'll 
hear  of  it?     You'd  better  see  to  this  at  once." 

"  W' hatever  you  says,  miss,  always  do  seem  right,  some- 
'ow.  What  you  says  do  seem  that  reasonable,  and  yet  I 
don't  know  how  to  bring  myself  to  go  to  'im.  I  told  'im 
that  I  didn't  want  no  truck  with  'im." 

"  Yes,  I  think  you  said  so.  It  is  a  delicate  matter  to 
advise  anyone  in,  but  I  feel  sure  I  am  right  when  I  say  that 
you  have  no  right  to  refuse  to  allow  him  to  do  something 
for  the  child.  Jackie  is  now  eight  years  old,  you've  not  the 
means  of  giving  him  a  proper  education,  and  you  know 
the  disadvantage  it  has  been  to  you  not  to  know  how  to 
read  and  write." 

"Jackie  can  read  beautifully — Mrs.  Lewis  'as  taught 
him." 

"  Yes,  Esther ;  but  there's  much  besides  reading  and 
writing.  Think  over  what  I've  said ;  you're  a  sensible 
girl ;  think  it  out  when  you  go  to  bed  to-night." 

Next  day,  seeing  William  in  the  street,  she  went  upstairs 
to  ask  Miss  Rice's  permission  to  go  out.  "  Could  you  spare 
me,  miss,  for  an  hour  or  so  ?"  was  all  she  said,  and  Miss 
Rice,  who  had  noticed  a  man  loitering,  replied,  "  Certainly, 
Esther." 

''  You  aren't  afraid  to  be  left  in  the  house  alone,  miss  .'' 
I  shan't  be  far  away." 

"  No.  I  am  expecting  Mr.  Alden.  I'll  let  him  in,  and 
can  make  the  tea  myself." 

Esther  ran  up  the  area  steps  and  walked  quickly  down 


ESTHER  WATERS  217 

the  street,  as  if  she  were  going  on  an  errand.  William 
crossed  the  road  and  was  soon  alongside  of  her. 

"  Don't  be  so  'ard  on  a  chap,"  he  said.  ^^  Just  listen  to 
reason." 

"  I  don't  want  to  listen  to  you ;  you  can't  have  much  to 
say  that  I  care  for." 

Her  tone  was  still  stubborn,  but  he  perceived  that  it 
contained  a  change  of  humour. 

"Come  for  a  little  walk,  and  then,  if  you  don't  agree 
with  what  I  says,  I'll  never  come  after  you  again." 

"You  must  take  me  for  a  fool  if  you  think  I'd  listen 
to  your  promises." 

"  Esther,  'ear  me  out ;  you're  very  unforgiving,  but  if 
you'd  'ear  me  out " 

"  You  can  speak  ;  no  one's  preventing  you  that  I 
can  see." 

"  I  can't  say  it  off  like  that ;  it  is  a  long  story.  I  know 
that  I've  behaved  badly  to  you,  but  it  wasn't  as  much  my 
fault  as  you  think  for  ;  I  could  explain  a  good  lot  of  it." 

"  I  'aven't  time  to  'ear  all  your  rubbish.  Now  what 
'ave  you  to  say  }     Come,  get  it  out." 

"  There's  the  boy." 

"  Oh,  it  is  the  boy  you're  thinking  of?" 

"  Yes,  and  you  too,  Esther.  The  mother  can't  be 
separated  from  the  child." 

"Very  likely  ;  the  father  can,  though." 

^'  If  you  talk  that  snappish  I  shall  never  get  out  what 
I've  to  say.  I've  treated  you  badly,  and  it  is  to  make  up 
for  the  past  as  far  as  I  can " 

"  And  how  do  you  know  that  you  aren't  doing  harm  by 
coming  after  me  V^ 

"  You  mean  you're  keeping  company  with  a  chap  and 
don't  want  me  ?" 

"  You  don't  know  I'm  not  a  married  woman ;  you  don't 
know  what  kind  of  situation  I'm  in.     You  comes  after  me 


218  ESTHER  WATERS 

just  because  it  pleases  your  fancy,  and  don't  give  it  a 
thought  that  you  mightn't  get  me  the  sack  as  you  got  it 
me  before." 

''^There's  no  use  nagging;  just  let's  go  where  we  can 
have  a  talk,  and  then  if  you  aren't  satisfied  you  can  go  your 
way  and  I  can  go  mine.  You  said  I  didn't  know  that  you 
wasn't  married.  I  don't,  but  if  you  aren't,  so  much  the 
better.  If  you  are,  you've  only  to  say  so  and  I'll  take  my 
hook.  I've  done  quite  enough  harm,  without  coming 
between  you  and  your  husband." 

William  spoke  earnestly,  and  his  words  came  so  evidently 
from  his  heart  that  Esther  was  touched  against  her  will. 

"  No,  I  ain't  married  yet,"  she  replied. 

'^'m  glad  of  that." 

"I  don't  see  what  odds  it  can  make  to  you  whether  I'm 
married  or  not.     If  I  ain't  married,  you  are." 

William  and  Esther  walked  on  in  silence,  listening  to 
the  day  as  it  hushed  in  quiet  suburban  murmurs  under 
an  almost  colourless  sky — a  faded  grey,  that  passed  into 
an  insignificant  blue  ;  and  upon  this  almost  neutral  tint 
the  red  suburb  appeared  in  rigid  outline,  the  wind  raising 
a  cloud  of  dust  in  the  roadway  at  intervals. 

"  Let's  go  in  there,"  he  said,  stopping  before  a  piece  of 
waste  ground,  ^' we'll  be  able  to  talk  easier;"  and  they 
went  in  and  looked  for  a  place  where  they  could  sit  down. 

"This  is  just  like  old  times,"  said  William,  moving  a 
little  closer. 

"  If  you  are  going  to  begin  any  of  that  nonsense  I'll  get 
up  and  go.  I  only  came  out  with  you  because  you  said 
you  had  something  particular  to  say  about  the  child." 

"Well,  it  is  only  natural  that  I  should  like  to  see  my 
son." 

"  How  do  you  know  it's  a  son  ?" 

"  I  thought  you  said  so.  I  should  like  it  to  be  a  boy — 
is  it?" 


ESTHER  WATERS  219 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  boy,  and  a  lovely  boy  too  ;  very  different  to 
his  father.     I've  always  told  him  that  his  father  is  dead." 

"And  is  he  sorry  ?" 

"  Not  a  bit.  I've  told  him  his  father  wasn't  good  to  me  ; 
and  he  don't  care  for  those  who  haven't  been  good  to  his 
mother." 

"  I  see,  you've  brought  him  up  to  hate  me  ?" 

"  He  don't  know  nothing  about  you — how  should  'e  ?" 

"  Very  likely  ;  but  there's  no  need  to  be  that  particular 
nasty.  As  I've  said  before,  what's  done  can't  be  undone. 
I  treated  you  badly,  I  know  that ;  and  I've  been  badly 
treated  myself — damned  badly  treated.  You've  'ad  a  'ard 
time ;  so  have  I,  if  that's  any  comfort  to  ye." 

"  I  suppose  it  is  wrong  of  me,  but  seeing  you  has 
brought  up  a  deal  of  bitterness,  more  than  I  thought  there 
was  in  me." 

William  lay  at  length,  his  body  resting  on  one  arm,  with 
a  long  grass  stalk  between  his  small,  discoloured  teeth. 
Esther  sat  straight  up,  her  stiff  cotton  dress  spread  over 
the  rough  grass  ;  her  cloth  jacket  unbuttoned.  He 
thought  her  a  nice-looking  woman,  one  who'd  do  well 
behind  the  bar  of  the  "  King's  Head."  His  marriage  had 
proved  childless,  in  every  way  a  failure  ;  and  he  now- 
desired  a  wife  such  as  he  felt  sure  she  would  be.  And  his 
heart  hankering  after  his  son  sorely,  he  tried  to  read  Esther's 
quiet,  subdued  face,  which  was  now  graver  than  usual, 
betraying  none  of  the  passion  that  choked  in  her  as  she 
sat  thinking  that  she  must  manage  somehow.  But  how  ? 
She  noticed  that  he  was  looking  at  her,  and  to  lead  his 
thoughts  away  from  herself  she  asked  him  where  he  had 
gone  with  his  wife  when  they  left  Woodview. 

"  Peggy  knew  all  the  time  I  was  gone  on  you." 

"  It  don't  matter  about  that.  Tell  me  where  you  went 
— they  said  you  went  foreign." 

"  We    first   went  to    Boulogne,   that's    in    France ;  but 


220  ESTHER  WATERS 

everyone  speaks  English  there,  and  there  was  a  nice 
billiard-room  handy,  where  all  the  big  betting  men  came 
in  of  an  evening.  We  went  to  the  races.  I  backed 
three  winners  on  the  first  day — the  second  I  didn't  do  so 
well.  Then  we  went  on  to  Paris.  The  race-raeetings 
is  very  'andy — I  will  say  that  for  Paris — half-an-hour's 
drive  and  there  you  are." 

"  Did  your  wife  like  Paris  ?" 

"  Yes,  she  liked  it  pretty  well— it  is  all  the  place  for 
fashion,  and  the  shops  is  grand  ;  but  she  got  tired  of  it  too, 
and  we  went  to  Italy." 

^^  Where's  that?" 

''That's  down  south.  A  beast  of  a  place— nothing  but 
sour  wine,  and  all  the  cookery  done  in  oil,  and  nothing  to 
do  but  seeing  picture-galleries.  I  got  that  sick  of  it  I 
could  stand  it  no  longer,  and  1  said,  '  I  've  'ad  enough  of 
this.  I  want  to  go  home,  w^here  I  can  get  a  glass  of 
Burton  and  a  cut  from  the  joint,  and  where  there's  a 
'orse  worth  looking  at.'  " 

'' But  she  was  very  fond  of  you.     She  must  have  been." 

"  She  was,  in  her  w^ay.  But  she  always  liked  talking  to 
the  singers  and  the  painters  that  we  met  out  yonder. 
Nothing  wrong,  you  know.  That  was  after  we  had  been 
married  about  three  years." 

"What  was  that.?*" 

"That  I  caught  her  out." 

"How  do  you  know  there  was  anything  wrong?  Men 
always  think  bad  of  women." 

"  No,  it  was  right  enough  ;  she  had  got  dead  sick  of  me, 
and  I  had  got  dead  sick  of  her.  It  never  did  seem  natural 
n  like.  There  was  no  'omeliness  in  it,  and  a  marriage  that 
"1  *ain't  'omely  is  no  marriage  for  me.  Her  friends  weren't 
my  friends  ;  and  as  for  my  friends,  she  never  left  off 
insulting  me  about  them.  If  I  was  to  ask  a  chap  in 
she  wouldn't  sit  in   the   same   room   with   him.      That's 


ESTHER  WATERS  221 

what  it  got  to  at  last.  And  I  was  always  thinking  of  you, 
and  your  name  used  to  come  up  when  we  was  talking. 
One  day  she  said,  '  I  suppose  you  are  sorry  you  didn't 
marry  a  servant  ? '  and  I  said,  ^  I  suppose  you  are  sorry 
you  did  ?'  " 

"  That  was  a  good  one  for  her.     Did  she  say  she  was  ?" 

*'  She  put  her  arms  round  my  neck  and  said  she  loved  none 
but  her  big  Bill.  But  all  her  flummery  didn't  take  me  in. 
And  I  says  to  myself,  '  Keep  an  eye  on  her.'  For  there 
was  a  young  fellow  hanging  about  in  a  manner  I  didn't 
particularly  like.  He  was  too  anxious  to  be  polite  to  me, 
he  talked  to  me  about  'orses,  and  I  could  see  he  knew 
nothing  about  them.  He  even  went  so  far  as  go  down  to 
Kempton  with  me." 

"  And  how  did  it  all  end  ?" 

"  I  said  I'll  keep  my  eye  on  this  young  whipper-snapper, 
and  coming  up  from  Ascot  by  an  earlier  train  than  they 
expected  me,  1  let  myself  in  and  ran  up  to  the  drawing- 
room,  and  there  I  found  them  sitting  side  by  side  on  the 
sofa.  The  young  fellow  turned  red,  and  he  got  up, 
stammering,  and  speaking  a  lot  of  rot. 

"  '  What !  you  back  already  ?  How  did  you  get  on  at 
Ascot  ?     Had  a  good  day  V 

" '  Rippin' ;  but  I'm  going  to  have  a  better  one  now,' 
I  said,  keeping  my  eye  all  the  while  on  my  wife.  I  could 
see  by  her  face  that  there  was  no  doubt  about  it.  Then  I 
took  him  by  the  throat.  '  I  just  give  you  two  minutes  to 
confess  the  truth ;  I  know  it,  but  I  want  to  hear  it  from 
you.  Now,  out  with  it,  or  I'll  strangle  you.'  I  gave  him 
a  squeeze  just  to  show  him  that  I  meant  it.  He  turned  up 
his  eyes,  and  my  wife  cried,  '  Murder  !'  I  threw  him  back 
from  me  and  got  between  her  and  the  door,  locked  it,  and 
put  the  key  in  my  pocket.  ^  Now,'  I  said,  '  I'll  drag  the 
truth  out  of  you  both.'  He  did  look  white,  he  shrivelled 
up  by  the  chimney-piece,  and  she — well,  she  looked  as  if 


222  ESTHER  WATERS 

she  could  have  killed  me,  only  there  was  nothing  to  kill 
me  with.  I  saw  her  look  at  the  fire-irons.  Then,  in  her 
nasty  sarcastic  way,  she  said,  '  There's  no  reason,  Percy, 
why  he  shouldn't  know.  Yes,'  she  said,  Hie  is  my  lover  ; 
you  can  get  your  divorce  when  you  like.' 

"  I  was  a  bit  taken  aback  ;  my  idea  was  to  squeeze  it  all 
out  of  the  fellow  and  shame  him  before  her.  But  she 
spoilt  my  little  game  there,  and  I  could  see  by  her  eyes 
that  she  knew  that  she  had.  '  Now,  Percy,'  she  said, 
'we'd  better  go.'  That  put  my  blood  up.  I  said,  'Go 
you  shall,  but  not  till  I  give  you  leave,'  and  without 
another  word  I  took  him  by  the  collar  and  led  him  to  the 
door ;  he  came  like  a  lamb,  and  I  sent  him  off  with  as  fine 
a  kick  as  he  ever  got  in  his  Hfe.  He  went  rolling  down, 
and  didn't  stop  till  he  got  to  the  bottom.  You  should 
have  seen  her  look  at  me  ;  there  was  murder  in  her 
eyes.  If  she  could  she'd  have  killed  me,  but  she 
couldn't  and  calmed  down  a  bit.  '  Let  me  go ;  what  do 
you  want  me  for  ?  You  can  get  a  divorce.  I'll  pay  the 
costs.' 

"'  I  don't  think  I'd  gratify  you  so  much.  So  you'd  like 
to  marry  him,  would  you,  my  beauty  ?' 

"  *  He's  a  gentleman,  and  I've  had  enough  of  you ;  if 
you  want  money  you  shall  have  it.' 

"  I  laughed  at  her,  and  so  it  went  on  for  an  hour  or 
more.  Then  she  suddenly  calmed  down.  I  knew  some- 
thing was  up,  only  I  didn't  know  what.  I  don't  know  if 
I  told  you  we  was  in  lodgings — the  usual  sort,  drawing- 
room  with  folding  doors,  the  bedroom  at  the  back.  She 
went  into  the  bedroom,  and  I  followed,  just  to  make  sure 
she  couldn't  get  out  that  way.  There  was  a  chest  of 
drawers  before  the  door ;  I  thought  she  couldn't  move  it, 
and  went  back  into  the  sitting-room.  But  somehow  she 
managed  to  move  it  without  my  hearing  her,  and  before  I 
could  stop  her  she   was  down  the   stairs  like  lightning. 


ESTHER  WATERS  22S 

I  went  after  her,  but  she  had  too  long  a  start  of  me,  and 
the  last  I  heard  was  the  street  door  go  bang." 

The  conversation  paused.  William  took  the  stalk  he 
was  chewing  from  his  teeth,  and  threw  it  aside.  Esther 
had  picked  one,  and  with  it  she  beat  impatiently  among 
the  grass. 

" But  what  has  all  this  to  do  with  me ?"  she  said.  "If 
this  is  all  you  have  brought  me  out  to  listen  to " 

"That's  a  nice  way  to  round  on  me.  Wasn't  it  you 
what  asked  me  to  tell  you  the  story  ?" 

"  So  you've  deserted  two  women  instead  of  one,  that's 
about  the  long  and  short  of  it." 

"  Well,  if  that's  what  you  think  I'd  better  be  off,"  said 
William,  and  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  stood  looking  at  her. 
She  sat  quite  still,  not  daring  to  raise  her  eyes  ;  her  heart 
was  throbbing  violently.  Would  he  go  away  and  never 
come  back  ?  Should  she  answer  him  indifferently  or  say 
nothing  ?  She  chose  the  latter  course.  Perhaps  it  was 
the  wrong  one,  for  her  dogged  silence  irritated  him,  and 
he  sat  down  and  begged  of  her  to  forgive  him.  He  would 
wait  for  her.  Then  her  heart  ceased  throbbing,  and  a  cold 
numbness  came  over  her  hands. 

"  My  wife  thought  that  I  had  no  money,  and  could  do 
what  she  liked  with  me.  But  I  had  been  backing  winners 
all  the  season,  and  had  a  couple  of  thousand  in  the  bank. 
I  put  aside  a  thousand  for  working  expenses,  for  I  intended 
to  give  up  backing  horses  and  go  in  for  bookmaking 
instead.  I  have  been  at  it  ever  since.  A  few  ups  and 
downs,  but  I  can't  complain.  I  am  worth  to-day  close 
on  three  thousand  pounds." 

At  the  mention  of  so  much  money  Esther  raised  her 
eyes.  She  looked  at  William  steadfastly.  Her  object  was 
to  rid  herself  of  him,  so  that  she  might  marry  another 
man ;  but  at  that  moment  a  sensation  of  the  love  she  had 
once  felt  for  him  sprang  upon  her  suddenly. 


<^ 


224  ESTHER  WATERS 

"  I  must  be  getting  back,  my  mistress  will  be  waiting 
for  me." 

"  You  needn't  be  in  that  hurry.  It  is  quite  early. 
Besides,  we  haven't  settled  nothing  yet." 

"  You've  been  telling  me  about  your  wife.  I  don't  see 
much  what  it's  got  to  do  with  me." 

"  I  thought  you  was  interested,  that  you  wanted  to  see 
that  I  wasn't  as  much  to  blame  as  you  thought." 

"I  must  be  getting  back/'  she  said;  ^*^ anything  else 
you  have  to  say  to  me  you  can  tell  me  on  the  way 
home." 

"  Well,  it  all  amounts  to  this,  Esther ;  if  I  get  a  divorce 
we  might  come  together  again.     What  do  you  think  ?" 

"  I  think  you'd  much  better  make  it  up  with  her. 
I  daresay  she's  very  sorry  for  w^hat  she's  done." 

^'  That's  all  rot,  Esther.  She  ain't  sorry,  and  wouldn't 
live  with  me  no  more  than  I  with  her.  We  could  not  get 
on ;  what's  the  use }  You'd  better  let  bygones  be 
bygones.     You  know  what  I  mean — marry  me." 

"  I  don't  think  I  could  do  that." 

"  You  like  some  other  chap.  You  like  some  chap,  and 
don't  want  me  interfering  in  your  life.  That's  w^hy  you 
wants  me  to  go  back  and  live  with  my  wife.  You  don't 
think  of  what  I've  gone  through  with  her  already." 

^'  You've  not  been  through  half  of  what  I  have.  I'll 
be  bound  that  you  never  wanted  a  dinner.     I  have." 

"  Esther,  think  of  the  child." 

"  You're  a  nice  one  to  tell  me  to  think  of  the  child^ 
I  who  worked  and  slaved  for  him  all  these  years." 

"  Then  I'm  to  take  no  for  an  answer  .^" 

"  I  don't  want  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  you." 

"  And  you  won't  let  me  see  the  child  ?" 

A  moment  later  Esther  answered,  ^^  You  can  see  the 
child,  if  you  like." 

"  Where  is  he  ?" 


ESTHER  WATERS  225 

"  You  can  come  with  me  to  see  him  next  Sunday,  if  you 
like.     Now  let  me  go  in." 

"  What  time  shall  I  come  for  you  ?'* 
^^  About  three— a  little  after." 


XXVI. 

William  was  waiting  for  her  by  the  area  railings  ;  and  while 
pinning  on  her  hat  she  thought  of  what  she  should  say, 
and  how  she  should  act.  But  she  didn't  know  her  mind, 
and  it  was  not  till  the  long  black  pin  that  held  her  hat  to 
her  hair  went  through  the  straw  with  a  little  sharp  sound, 
that  she  decided  that  when  the  time  came  she  would  know 
what  to  say. 

As  he  stepped  aside  to  let  her  go  up  the  area  steps, 
she  noticed  how  beautiful  were  his  grey  trousers,  and  that 
he  wore  a  bunch  of  carnations  hi  his  spick-and-span  morn- 
ing coat.  "Quite  a  toff,"  she  said  to  herself,  and  they 
walked  some  half-dozen  yards  up  the  street  in  silence. 

"But  why  do  you  want  to  see  the  boy?  You  never 
thought  of  him  all  these  years." 

"  I'll  tell  you,  Esther.  But  it  is  nice  to  be  walking  out 
with  you  again.  If  you'd  only  let  bygones  be  bygones  we 
might  settle  down  together  yet.     What  do  you  think  ?" 

She  did  not  answer,  and  he  continued :  "  It  do  seem 
strange  to  be  walking  out  with  you  again,  meeting  you 
after  all  these  years,  and  I'm  never  in  your  neighbourhood. 
I  just  happened  to  have  a  bit  of  business  with  a  friend  who 
lives  your  way,  and  was  coming  along  from  his  'ouse, 
turning  over  in  my  mind  what  he  had  told  me  about 
Rising  Sun  for  the  Stewards'  Cup,  when  I  saw  you  coming 
along  with  the  jug  in  your  'and.  I  said,  ^That's  the 
prettiest  girl  I've  seen  this  many  a  day  ;  that's  the  sort  of 
girl  I'd  like  to  see  behind  the  bar  of  the  "  King's  Head."  ' 

9 


226  ESTHER  WATERS 

You  always  keeps  your  figure — you  know  you  ain't  a  bit 
changed  ;  and  when  I  caught  sight  of  those  white  teeth  I 
said,  ^  Lor',  why,  it's  Esther.'  " 

"I  thought  it  was  about  the  child  you  was  going  to 
speak  to  me." 

"  So  I  am,  but  you  came  first  in  my  estimation.  The 
moment  I  looked  into  your  eyes  I  felt  it  had  been  a 
mistake  all  along,  and  that  you  was  the  only  one  I  had 
cared  about." 

"  Then  all  about  wanting  to  see  the  child  was  a  pack  of 
lies }" 

"  No,  they  weren't  lies.  I  wanted  both  mother  and  child 
— if  I  could  get  'em,  ye  know.  I'm  telling  you  the  plain 
truth,  Esther.  I  thought  of  the  child  as  a  way  of  getting 
you  back  ;  but  little  by  little  I  began  to  take  an  interest 
in  him,  to  wonder  what  he  was  like,  and  with  thoughts  of 
the  boy  came  different  thoughts  of  you,  Esther,  who  is 
the  mother  of  my  boy.  Then  I  wanted  you  both  back ; 
I've  thought  of  nothing  else  ever  since." 

At  that  moment  they  reached  the  Metropolitan  Railway, 
and  William  pressed  forward  to  get  the  tickets.  A  subter- 
raneous rumbling  was  heard,  and  they  ran  down  the  steps 
as  fast  as  they  could ;  seeing  them  so  near,  the  ticket- 
collector  held  the  door  open  for  them,  and  just  as  the  train 
was  moving  from  the  platform  William  pushed  Esther  into 
a  second-class  compartment. 

"  We're  in  the  wrong  class,"  she  cried. 
"  No,  we  ain't ;  get  in,  get  in,"  he  shouted.  And  with 
the  guard  crying  to  him  to  desist,  he  hopped  in  after  her 
saying,  "  You  very  nearly  made  me  miss  the  train.  What 
'ud  you've  done  if  the  train  had  taken  you  away  and  left 
me  behind  ?" 

"Then  you  travel  second-class  ?"  Esther  said. 
"  Yes,  I  always  travel  second-class  now ;   Peggy  never 
would,  but  second  seems  to  me  quite  good  enough.      I 


ESTHER  WATERS  227 

don't  care  about  third,  unless  one  is  with  a  lot  of  pals, 
and  can  keep  the  carriage  to  ourselves.  That's  the 
way  we  manage  it  when  we  go  down  to  Newmarket  or 
Doncaster." 

And  they  being  alone  in  the  compartment  William 
leaned  forward  and  took  her  hand. 

^^Try  to  forgive  me,  Esther." 

She  drew  her  hand  away ;  he  got  up,  and  sat  down 
beside  her,  and  put  his  arm  around  her  waist. 

"  No,  no.  I'll  have  none  of  that.  All  that  sort  of 
thing  is  over  between  us." 

He  looked  at  her  inquisitively,  not  knowing  how  to  act. 

^'I  know  you've  had  a  hard  time,  Esther.  Tell  me 
about  it.  What  did  you  do  when  you  left  Woodview? 
Did  you  ever  meet  anyone  since  that  you  cared  for  ?" 

The  question  irritated  her,  and  she  said,  ''  It  don't 
matter  to  you  who  I  met  or  what  I  went  through." 

William  spoke  about  the  Barfields,  and  Esther  could 
not  but  listen  to  the  tale  of  what  had  happened  at  Wood- 
view  during  the  last  eight  years. 

Woodview  had  been  all  her  unhappiness  and  all  her 
misfortune.  She  had  gone  there  when  the  sap  of  life  was 
flowing  fastest  in  her,  and  Woodview  had  become  the 
most  precise  and  distinct  vision  she  had  gathered  from 
life.  She  remembered  that  wholesome  and  ample  country 
house,  with  its  park  and  its  down  lands,  and  the  valley 
farm,  sheltered  by  the  long  lines  of  elms.  She  remem- 
bered  the  racehorses,  their  slight  shapes  showing  under 
the  grey  clothing,  the  round  black  eyes  looking  out  through 
the  eyelet  holes  in  the  hanging  hoods,  the  odd  little  boys 
astride — a  string  of  six  or  seven  passing  always  before 
the  kitchen  windows,  going  through  the  paddock  gate 
under  the  bunched  ilex-trees.  She  remembered  the 
rejoicings  when  the  horse  won  at  Goodwood,  and  the  ball 
at  the  Shoreham  Gardens.    Woodview  had  meant  too  much 


228  ESTHER  WATERS 

in  her  life  to  be  forgotten  ;  its  hillside  and  its  people,  and 
something  in  William's  voice  recalled  her  from  her  reverie, 
and  she  heard  him  say  : 

"  The  poor  Gaffer,  'e  never  got  over  it ;  it  regular  broke 
*im  up  ;  for  I  was  nearly  forgetting  to  tell  you  it  was 
Ginger  who  was  riding,  and  that  he  did  all  he  knew  ;  he 
lost  start,  he  tried  to  get  shut  in,  but  it  warn't  no  go,  luck 
was  against  them  ;  the  'orse  was  full  of  running,  and,  of 
course,  he  couldn't  sit  down  and  saw  his  blooming  'ead  off, 
right  in  th'  middle  of  the  course,  with  Sir  Thomas's  (that's 
the  'andicapper)  field-glasses  on  him.  He'd  have  been 
warned  off  the  blooming  'eath,  and  he  couldn't  afford  that, 
even  to  save  his  own  father.  The  'orse  won  in  a  canter  : 
they  clapped  eight  stun  on  him  for  the  Cambridgeshire, 
and  it  broke  the  Gaffer's  'eart.  He  had  to  sell  off  his 
'orses,  and  he  died  soon  after  the  sale,  of  consumption. 
It  generally  takes  them  off  earlier  ;  but  they  say  it  is  in 
the  family.     Miss  Mary " 

"  Oh,  tell  me  about  her,"  said  Esther,  who  had  been 
thinking  all  the  while  of  Mrs.  Barfield  and  of  Miss  Mary. 
"Tell  me,  there's  nothing  the  matter  with  Miss  Mary  ?" 

"  Yes,  there  is  :  she  can't  live  no  more  in  England  ;  she 
has  to  go  to  winter,  I  think  it  is,  in  Algeria." 

At  that  moment  the  train  screeched  along  the  rails,  and 
vibrating  under  the  force  of  the  brakes,  it  passed  out  of 
the  tunnel  into  Blackfriars. 

"  We  shall  just  be  able  to  catch  the  ten  minutes  past 
four  to  Peckham,"  she  said,  and  they  ran  up  the  high 
steps.  William  strode  along  so  fast  that  Esther  was 
obliged  to  cry  out,  "  There's  no  use,  William  ;  train  or  no 
train,  I  can't  walk  at  that  rate." 

There  was  just  time  for  them  to  get  their  tickets  at 
Ludgate  Hill.  They  were  in  a  carriage  by  themselves, 
and  he  proposed  to  draw  up  the  windows  so  that  they 
might  be  able  to  talk  more  easily. 


ESTHER  WATERS  229 

''  Never  mind  about  the  'orses,  tell  me  about  the  Saint." 
"  You  seem  to  be  very  fond  of  her  ;  what  did  she  do  for 

you?" 

''  Everything — that  was  after  you  went  away.  She  was 
kind." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  that/'  said  William. 

"  So  they  spends  the  summer  at  Woodview  and  goes  to 
foreign  parts  for  the  winter?" 

"  Yes,  that's  it.  Most  of  the  estate  was  sold ;  but 
the  Saint  has  her  fortune,  about  five  hundred  a  year,  and 
they  just  manage  to  live  there  in  a  sort  of  hole-and-corner 
sort  of  way,  not  able  to  afford  to  keep  a  trap,  and  towards 
the  end  of  October  they  go  off  and  don't  return  till  the 
beginning  of  May.  You  remember  the  stables  they  were 
putting  up  when  Silver  Braid  won  the  two  cups  ?  Well, 
they  are  just  as  when  you  last  saw  them — rafters  and  walls." 

"  Racing  don't  seem  to  bring  no  luck  to  anyone.  It 
ain't  my  affair,  but  if  I  was  you  I'd  give  it  up  and  get  to 
some  honest  work." 

''  Racing  has  been  a  good  friend  to  me.  I  don't  know 
where  I  should  be  without  it  to-day." 

"  So  all  the  servants  have  left  Woodview  ?  I  wonder 
what  has  become  of  them." 

"  You  remember  my  mother,  the  cook  ?  She  died 
a  couple  of  years  ago." 

'^  Mrs.  Latch  !     Oh,  I'm  so  sorry." 

"  She  was  an  old  woman.  You  remember  John  Randal, 
the  butler?  He's  in  a  situation  in  Cumberland  Place, 
near  the  Marble  Arch.  He  sometimes  comes  round  and 
has  a  glass  in  the  '  King's  Head.'  Sarah  Tucker — she's  in 
a  situation  somewhere  in  town.  I  don't  know  what  has 
become  of  Margaret  Gale." 

"  I  met  her  one  day  in  the  Strand.  I'd  had  nothing  to 
eat  all  day.  I  was  almost  fainting,  and  she  took  me  into 
a  public-house  and  gave  me  a  sausage." 


230  ESTHER  WATERS 

The  train  began  to  slacken  speed  ;  William  said^  "  this 
is  Peckham/'  and  they  passed  into  the  air  of  an  irregular 
little  street — low  disjointed  shops  and  houses,  where  the 
tramcars  tinkled  through  a  slacker  tide  of  humanity  than 
the  Londoners  were  accustomed  to. 

"  This  way,"  said  Esther.    ''  This  is  the  way  to  the  Rye." 

'^'^Then  Jackie  lives  at  the  Rye  ?" 

"  Not  far  from  the  Rye.     Do  you  know  East  Dulwich  ?" 

"  No;  I  never  was  here  before." 

''  Mrs.  Lewis  (that's  the  woman  who  looks  after  him) 
lives  at  East  Dulwich,  but  it  ain't  very  far.  I  always  gets 
out  here.  I  suppose  you  don't  mind  a  quarter  of  an 
hour's  walk." 

"  Not  when  I'm  with  you,"  William  replied  gallantly, 
and  he  followed  her  through  the  passers-by,  the  Rye  open- 
ing up  before  them  like  a  large  park,  with  slender  trees 
and  a  Japanese  pavilion  quaintly  placed  on  a  little  mound. 
At  the  Peckham  end  there  were  a  dozen  handsome  trees, 
and  under  them  a  piece  of  artificial  water  where  boys  were 
sailing  toy  boats  and  a  spaniel  was  swimming  ;  and  as 
Esther  and  William  passed  on  they  saw  two  old  ladies  in 
black  come  out  of  a  garden  full  of  hollyhocks,  and  walked 
towards  a  seat  and  sat  down  in  the  autumn  landscape  to 
enjoy  the  vast  expanse  full  of  the  last  days  of  cricket.  An 
upland  background  in  gradations,  interspaced  with  villas, 
terraces,  and  gardens,  and  steep  hillside,  showing  fields 
and  hayricks,  brought  the  Rye  to  a  picturesque  and 
abrupt  end.  And  turning  to  the  right,  leaving  the  Rye 
behind  them,  the  twain  ascended  a  long,  monotonous,  and 
very  ugly  road  composed  of  artificial  little  houses,  each  set 
in  a  portion  of  very  metallic  garden.  These  continued  all 
the  way  to  the  top  of  a  long  hill,  straggling  into  a  piece  of 
waste  ground  where  there  w^ere  some  trees  and  a  few 
rough  cottages.  A  little  boy  came  running  towards  them, 
stumbling  over  the  cinder  heaps  and  the  tin  canisters  with 


ESTHER  WATERS  231 

which  the  place  was  strewn,  and  William  felt  that  that 
child  was  his. 

"That  child  will  break  'is  blooming  little  neck  if  'e 
don't  take  care,"  he  remarked  tentatively. 

She  hated  him  to  see  the  child,  and  to  assert  her 
complete  ownership  she  clasped  Jackie  to  her  bosom 
without  a  word  of  explanation,  and  questioned  him  on 
matters  about  which  William  knew  nothing,  W'illiam 
standing  by  all  the  while  like  a  stranger  looking  tenderly 
on  his  son,  waiting  for  Esther  to  introduce  them.  The 
boy  looked  suddenly  towards  his  father,  and  Esther 
repented  a  little  of  her  cruelty. 

"Jackie,"  she  said,  "do  you  know  who  this  gentleman 
is  who  has  come  to  see  you  ?" 

«^No,  I  don't." 

She  didn't  care  that  Jackie  should  love  his  father,  and 
yet  she  could  not  help  feeling  sorry  for  William. 

"  I'm  your  father,"  said  William. 

"  No,  you  ain't.     I  ain't  got  no  father." 

"  How  do  you  know,  Jackie  ?" 

"  Father  died  before  I  was  born  ;  mother  told  me." 

"  But  mother  may  be  mistaken." 

"  If  my  father  hadn't  died  before  I  was  born  he'd  've 
been  to  see  us  before  this.  Come,  mother,  come  to  tea. 
Mrs.  Lewis  'as  got  hot  cakes,  and  they'M  be  burnt  if  we 
stand  talking." 

"  Yes,  dear,  but  what  the  gentleman  says  is  quite  true  ; 
he  is  your  father." 

Jackie  made  no  answer,  and  Esther  said :  "  I  told  you 
your  father  was  dead,  but  I  was  mistaken." 

"  Won't  you  come  and  walk  with  me  ?"  said  William. 

^'No,  thank  you  ;  I  like  to  walk  with  mother." 

"  He's  always  like  that  with  strangers,"  said  Esther  ; 
"  it  is  shyness ;  but  he'll  come  and  talk  to  you  presently, 
if  you  leave  him  alone." 


232  ESTHER  WATERS 

Each  cottage  had  a  rough  piece  of  garden,  and  Mrs. 
Lewis's  large  face  showed  over  the  broken  paling  among 
the  yellow  crowns  of  the  sunflowers.  A  moment  later  she 
was  at  the  gate  welcoming  her  visitors.  The  affection  of 
her  welcome  was  checked  on  seeing  that  William  was  with 
Esther,  and  she  drew  aside  respectfully  to  let  this  fine 
gentleman  pass. 

"  This  is  Jackie's  father." 

"  What,  never !  I  thought — but  I'm  sure  we're  very 
glad  to  see  you."  Then  noticing  the  fine  gold  chain  that 
hung  across  his  waistcoat,  the  cut  of  his  clothes,  and  the 
air  of  money  which  his  whole  bearing  seemed  to  represent, 
she  became  a  litle  obsequious  in  her  welcome. 

"  I'm  sure,  sir,  we're  very  glad  to  see  you.  Won't  you 
sit  down  ?"  and  dusting  a  chair  with  her  apron,  she 
handed  it  to  him.     Then  turning  to  Esther,  she  said  : 

"  Sit  yourself  down,  dear  ;  tea'll  be  ready  in  a  moment." 
She  was  one  of  those  women  who,  although  their  apron- 
strings  are  a  good  yard  in  length,  preserve  a  strange 
agility  of  movement  and  a  pleasant  vivacity  of  speech. 
"  I  'ope,  sir,  we've  brought  'im  up  to  your  satisfaction  ; 
we've  done  the  best  we  could.  He's  a  dear  boy.  There's 
been  a  bit  of  jealousy  between  us  on  'is  account,  but  for 
all  that  we  'aven't  sjDoilt  him.  I  don't  want  to  praise  him, 
but  he's  as  well-behaved  a  boy  as  I  knows  of.  Maybe  a 
bit  wilful,  but  there  ain't  much  fault  to  find  with  him,  and 
I  ought  to  know,  for  it  is  I  that  'ad  the  bringing  up  of 
him  since  he  was  a  baby  of  two  months  old.  Jackie  dear, 
why  don't  you  go  to  your  father  .^" 

He  stood  by  his  mother's  chair,  twisting  his  slight  legs 
in  a  manner  that  was  peculiar  to  him.  His  dark  hair  fell 
in  thick,  heavy  locks  over  his  small  face,  and  from  under 
the  shadow  of  his  locks  his  great  luminous  eyes  glanced 
at  his  father  furtively.  Mrs.  Lewis  told  him  to  take  his 
finger   out  of  his  mouth,  and  thus  encouraged  he  went 


ESTHER  WATERS  2SS 

towards  William,  still  twisting  his  legs  and  looking  curiously 
dejected.  He  did  not  speak  for  some  time,  but  he 
allowed  William  to  put  his  arm  round  him  and  draw  him 
against  his  knees.  And  then  fixing  his  eyes  on  the  toes 
of  his  shoes  he  said  abruptly,  but  confidentially : 

"  Are  you  really  my  father  ?  No  humbug,  you  know," 
he  added,  raising  his  eyes,  and  for  a  moment  looking 
William  searchingly  in  the  face. 

'^I'm  not  humbugging.  Jack.  I'm  your  father  right 
enough.  Don't  you  like  me  ?  But  I  think  you  said  you 
didn't  want  to  have  a  father  ?" 

Jackie  did  not  answer  this  question  at  once.  After  a 
moment's  reflection,  he  said,  "  If  you  be  father,  why  didn't 
you  come  to  see  us  before  ?" 

William  glanced  at  Esther,  who,  in  her  turn,  glanced 
at  Mrs.  Lewis. 

"  I'm  afraid  that's  rather  a  long  story,  Jackie.  I  was 
away  in  foreign  parts." 

Jackie  looked  as  if  he  would  like  to  hear  about  ''  foreign 
parts,"  and  William  awaited  the  question  that  seemed  to 
tremble  on  the  child's  lips.  But,  instead,  he  turned 
suddenly  to  Mrs.  Lewis  : 

"  The  cakes  aren't  burnt,  are  they  ?  I  ran  as  fast  as  I 
could  the  moment  I  saw  them  coming." 

The  childish  abruptness  of  the  transition  made  them 
laugh.  Mrs.  Lewis  took  the  plate  of  cakes  from  the  fender 
and  poured  out  the  tea  ;  and  the  door  and  window  being 
open,  the  dying  light  lent  a  tenderness  to  the  tea- 
table,  to  the  quiet  solicitude  of  the  mother  watching  her 
son,  knowing  him  in  all  his  intimate  habits  ;  to  the  eager 
curiosity  of  the  father  on  the  other  side,  leaning  forward 
delighted  at  every  look  and  word,  thinking  it  all  astonish- 
ing, wonderful,  and  to  the  child  sitting  between  the 
women,  who  seemed  to  understand  that  his  chance  of  eat- 
ing as  many  tea-cakes  as  he  pleased  had   come  at  last. 


2S4  ESTHER  WATERS 

He  ate  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  plate,  considering  which 
piece  he  would  have  when  he  had  finished  the  piece  he 
had  in  his  hand.  Little  was  said — a  few  remarks  about 
the  fine  weather,  and  offers  to  pour  out  another  cup  of  tea. 
By  their  silence  Mrs.  Lewis  began  to  understand  that 
they  had  differences  to  settle,  and  she  took  her  shawl 
from  the  peg,  and  pleaded  that  she  had  an  appointment 
with  a  neighbour.  But  she  wouldn't  be  more  than  half- 
an-hour  away  ;  would  they  look  after  the  house  till  her 
return  ?  And  William  watched  her,  thinking  of  what  he 
would  say  when  she  was  out  of  hearing. 

"  That  boy  of  ours  is  a  dear  little  fellow  ;  you've  been 
a  good  mother,  I  can  see  that.     If  I  had  only  known." 

"  There's  no  use  talking  no  more  about  it ;  what's  done 
is  done." 

The  cottage  door  was  open,  and  in  the  still  evening 
they  could  see  their  child  swinging  on  the  gate.  The 
moment  brimmed  with  responsibility,  and  yet  the  words 
as  they  fell  from  their  lips  seemed  accidental. 

At  last  he  said  : 

'^  Esther,  I  can  get  a  divorce." 

"  You'd  much  better  go  back  to  your  wife.  Once 
married,  always  married,  that's  my  w^ay  of  thinking." 

"  I'm  sorry  to  hear  you  say  it,  Esther.  Do  you  think 
a  man  should  stop  with  his  wife  who's  been  treated  as 
1  have  been  ?" 

Esther  avoided  a  direct  reply,  asking  him  instead,  why 
he  should  care  about  a  child  for  whom  he  had  never  done 
anything  ?  To  which  William  answered  that  if  he  had 
known  there  was  a  child  he  would  have  left  his  wife  long 
ago,  for  that  he  loved  Jackie  just  as  much  as  she  did. 

"That  would  have  been  very  wrong." 

"We  ain't  getting  no  for'arder  by  discussing  them 
things,"  he  said,  interrupting  her.  "  W^e  can't  say  good- 
bye after  this  evening  and  never  see  one  another  again." 


ESTHER  WATERS  235 

^'  Why  not  ?  Tm  nothing  to  you  now  ;  you've  got  a  wife 
of  your  own ;  you've  no  claim  upon  me ;  you  can  go  your 
way  and  I  can  keep  to  mine." 

"  There's  that  child.     I  must  do  something  for  him." 

^'  Well,  you  can  do  something  for  him  without  ruining 
me." 

"  Ruining  you^  Esther  .^" 

''  Yes,  ruining  me.  I  ain't  going  to  lose  my  character 
by  keeping  company  with  a  married  man.  You've  done 
me  harm  enough  already,  and  should  be  ashamed  to 
think  of  doing  me  any  more.  You  can  pay  for  the  boy's 
schooling  if  you  like,  you  can  pay  for  his  keep  too,  but  you 
mustn't  think  that  in  doing  so  you'll  get  hold  of  me 
again." 

"  Do  you  mean  it,  Esther  ?" 

"  Followers  ain't  allowed  where  I  am.  You're  a  married 
man.     I  won't  have  it." 

"  But  when  I  get  my  divorce  .-*" 

"  When  you  get  yjour  divorce  !  I  don't  know  how  it'll 
be  then.  But  here's  Mrs.  Lewis ;  she's  a-scolding  of 
Jackie  for  swinging  on  that  'ere  gate.  Naughty  boy;  he's 
been  told  twenty  times  not  to  swing  on  the  gate." 

Esther  complained  that  they  had  stayed  too  long,  that 
he  had  made  her  late,  saying  he  might  write  if  he  had 
anything  important  to  say,  but  she  wouldn't  keep  company 
with  a  married  man.  Whereupon  William  seemed  very 
downcast.  Esther,  too,  was  unhappy,  and  without  know- 
ing why,  for  she  had  succeeded  as  well  as  she  had  expected, 
her  idea  being  to  keep  William  out  of  the  way  and  hurry 
on  her  marriage  with  Fred.  But  this  marriage,  once 
desired,  no  longer  gave  her  pleasure,  filled  her  rather 
with  misgiving.  She  had  told  Fred  about  the  child.  He 
had  forgiven  her.  But  men  were  all  for  forgiving  before 
marriage,  but  afterwards  how  would  it  be  ?  Would  he 
reproach  her  with  her  fault  the  first  time  they  came  to 


236  ESTHER  WATERS 

disagree  about  anything  ?     She  had  no  luck,  and  didn't 
want  to  marry  anyone. 

The  visit  to  Dulwich  had  upset  her.  She  ought  to  have 
kept  out  of  WilUam's  way,  but  that  man  seemed  to  have  a 
power  over  her,  and  she  hated  him  for  it.  Now  what  did 
he  want  to  see  the  child  for  ?  The  child  was  nothing  to 
him.  She  had  been  a  fool  !  and  through  this  fever  of 
trouble  there  raged  up  and  down  her  mind  the  thought 
of  what  Jackie  thought  of  his  father,  and  what  Mrs.  Lewis 
thought  of  William. 

And  the  desire  to  know  what  was  happening  becoming 
great,  she  went  to  her  mistress  to  ask  for  leave  to  go 
out,  without  her  agitation  betraying  itself  in  her  de- 
meanour, yet  Miss  Rice's  sharp  eyes  guessed  that  her 
servant's  life  was  at  a  crisis.  Her  book  dropped  on  her 
knee,  she  asked  a  few  kind,  discreet  questions,  and  after 
dinner  Esther  hurried  towards  the  Underground. 

The  door  of  the  cottage  was  open,  and  as  she  crossed 
the  little  garden  she  heard  Mrs.  Lewis  say  : 

"  Now  you  must  be  a  good  boy,  and  not  go  out  in  the 
garden  and  spoil  your  new  clothes.*'  And  when  Esther 
entered  Mrs.  Lewis  was  giving  the  finishing  touches  to 
the  necktie  which  she  had  just  tied.  Now  you'll  go  and 
sit  on  that  chair,  like  a  good  boy,  and  wait  there  till  your 
father  comes." 

"Oh,  here's  mummie,"  cried  the  boy,  and  he  escaped 
out  of  Mrs.  Lewis's  hand.  "  Look  at  my  new  clothes, 
mummie;  look  at  them!"  And  Esther  saw  her  boy 
dressed  in  a  suit  of  velveteen  knickerbockers  with  brass 
buttons,  and  a  sky-blue  necktie, 

"  His  father — I  mean  Mr.  Latch — came  here  on 
Thursday  morning,  and  took  him  to " 

"Took  me  up  to  London " 

"And  brought  him  back  in  those  clothes." 
We  went  to  such  a  big  shop  in  Oxford    Street  for 


ESTHER  WATERS  237 

them,  and  they  took  down  many  suits  before  they  could 
get  one  to  fit.  Father  is  that  difficult  to  please,  and  I 
thought  we  should  go  away  without  any  clothes,  and  1 
couldn't  walk  about  London  with  father  in  these  old 
things.  Aren't  they  shabby.^"  he  added,  kicking  them 
contemptuously.  It  was  a  little  grey  suit  that  Esther  had 
made  for  him  with  her  own  hands. 

"  Father  had  me  measured  for  another  suit,  but  it  won't 
be  ready  for  a  few  days.  Father  took  me  to  the  Zoological 
Gardens,  and  we  saw  the  lions  and  tigers,  and  there  are 

such  a  lot  of  monkeys.     There  is  one But  what  makes 

you  look  so  cross,  mummie  dear  ?  Don't  you  ever  go  out 
with  father  in  London  .'*  London  is  such  a  beautiful  place. 
And  then  we  walked  through  the  park  and  saw  a  lot  of 
boys  sailing  boats.  Father  asked  me  if  I  had  a  boat.  I 
said  you  were  too  poor  to  buy  me  toys.  He  said  that  was 
hard  lines  on  me,  and  on  the  way  back  to  the  station  we 
stopped  at  a  toy-shop  and  he  bought  me  a  boat.  May  I 
show  you  my  boat?" 

Jackie  was  so  primed  with  thoughts  of  his  boat  that  he 
did  not  notice  the  gloom  that  was  gathering  on  his  mother's 
face  ;  and  before  Mrs.  Lewis  could  make  up  her  mind 
what  to  do,  he  was  forcing  his  toy  into  his  mother's  hands, 
saying  :  "  This  is  a  cutter-rigged  boat,  because  it  has  three 
sails  and  only  one  mast.  Father  told  me  so,  and  he'll  be 
here  in  half-an-hour,  for  we're  going  to  sail  the  boat  in 
the  pond  on  the  Rye,  and  if  it  gets  across  all  right  he'll 
take  me  to  the  park  where  there's  a  big  piece  of  water, 
twice,  three  times  as  big  as  the  water  on  the  Rye.  Do  you 
think,  mummie,  that  I  shall  ever  be  able  to  get  my  boat 
across  such  a  piece  of  water  as  the — I've  forgotten  the 
name.     What  do  they  call  it,  mummie  ?" 

"  Oh,    I    don't    know  ;    don't    bother   me   with    your 
boat." 

"  Oh,  mummie,  what  have  I  done  that  you  won't  look  at 


288  ESTHER  WATERS 

my  boat  ?  Aren't  you  coming  with  father  to  the  Rye  to 
see  me  sail  it?" 

'^  I  don't  want  to  go  with  you.  Come,  don't  plague  me 
any  more  with  your  boat/'  she  said,  pushing  it  away,  and 
then  in  a  moment  of  passion  she  threw  it  across  the  room. 
Jackie  ran  to  his  toy,  he  picked  it  up,  and  his  face  showed 
his  grief.  "  I  shan't  be  able  to  sail  my  boat  now  ;  it  won't 
sail,  its  mast  and  the  sails  is  broke.  Mummie,  what  did 
you  break  my  boat  for?"  and  the  child  burst  into  tears. 
At  that  moment  William  entered. 

"What  is  the  child  crying  for?"  he  asked,  stopping 
abruptly  on  the  threshold.  There  was  a  slight  tone  of 
authority  in  his  voice  which  angered  Esther  still  more. 

"What  is  it  to  you  what  he  is  crying  for?"  she  said, 
turning  quickly  round.  "  What  has  the  child  got  to  do 
with  you  that  you  should  come  down  ordering  people 
about  for  ?  A  nice  sort  of  mean  trick,  and  one  that  is  just 
like  you.  You  beg  and  pray  of  me  to  let  you  see  the 
child,  and  when  I  do  you  come  down  here  on  the  sly,  and 
with  the  present  of  a  suit  of  clothes  and  a  toy  boat  you  try 
to  win  his  love  away  from  his  mother." 

"  Esther,  Esther,  I  never  thought  of  getting  his  love 
from  you.  I  meant  no  harm.  Mrs.  Lewis  said  that  he 
was  looking  a  trifle  moped  ;  we  thought  that  a  change 
would  do  him  good,  and  so " 

"  Ah !  it  was  Mrs.  Lewis  that  asked  you  to  take  him  up 
to  London.  It  is  a  strange  thing  what  a  little  money  will 
do.  Ever  since  you  set  foot  in  this  cottage  she  has  been 
curtseying  and  handing  you  chairs.  I  didn't  much  like  it, 
but  I  didn't  think  that  she  would  round  on  me  in  this 
way."  And  then  turning  suddenly  on  her  old  friend,  she 
said  :  "  Who  told  you  to  let  him  have  the  child?  Is  it  he 
or  I  who  pays  you  for  his  keep  ?  Answer  me  that.  How 
much  did  he  give  you — a  new  dress  ?" 

"  Oh,  Esther,  I  am  surprised  at  you  !    I  didn't  think  it 


ESTHER  WATERS  239 

would  come  to  accusing  me  of  being  bribed,  and  after  all 
these  years."  Mrs.  Lewis  put  her  apron  to  her  eyes,  and 
Jackie  stole  over  to  his  father. 

"It  wasn't  I  who  smashed  the  boat,  it  was  mummie ; 
she's  in  a  passion.  I  don't  know  why  she  smashed  it. 
I  didn't  do  nothing." 

William  took  the  child  on  his  knee. 

"  She  didn't  mean  to  smash  it.  There's  a  good  hoy,  don't 
cry  no  more." 

Jackie  looked  at  his  father.  "  Will  you  buy  me  another  ? 
The  shops  aren't  open  to-day."  Then  getting  off  his  father's 
knee  he  picked  up  the  toy,  and  coming  back  he  said, 
"Could  we  mend  the  boat  somehow.^  Do  you  think 
we  could .'"' 

"  Jackie  dear,  go  away ;  leave  your  father  alone.  Go 
into  the  next  room,"  said  Mrs.  Lewis. 

"  No,  he  can  stop  here ;  let  him  be,"  said  Esther. 
"  I  w^ant  to  have  no  more  to  say  to  him  ;  he  can  look  to  his 
father  for  the  future."  Esther  turned  on  her  heel  and 
walked  straight  for  the  door.  But  dropping  his  boat  with 
a  cry,  the  little  fellow  ran  after  her  and  clung  to  her  skirt 
despairingly.  "  No,  mummie  dear,  you  mustn't  go  ;  never 
mind  the  boat;  I  love  you  better  than  the  boat— I'll  do 
without  a  boat." 

"  Esther,  Esther,  this  is  all  nonsense.     Just  listen." 

"No,  I  won't  listen  to  you.  But  you  shall  listen  to  me. 
When  I  brought  you  here  last  week  you  asked  me  in  the 
train  what  I  had  been  doing  all  these  years.  I  didn't 
answer  you,  but  I  will  now.     I've  been  in  the  workhouse." 

"  In  the  workhouse  !" 

"  Yes,  do  that  surprise  you  .'^" 

Then  jerking  out  her  words,  throwing  them  at  him  as  it 
they  were  half-bricks,  she  told  him  the  story  of  the  last 
eight  years— Queen  Charlotte's  Hospital,  Mrs.  Rivers,  Mrs. 
Spires,  the  night  on  the  Embankment,  and  the  workhouse, 


240  ESTHER  WATERS 

"And  when  I  came  out  of  the  workhouse  I  travelled 
London  in  search  of  sixteen  pounds  a  year  wages,  which 
was  the  least  I  could  do  with,  and  when  I  didn't  find  them 
I  sat  here  and  ate  dry  bread.  She'll  tell  you — she  saw  it 
all.  I  haven't  said  nothing  about  the  shame  and  sneers  I 
had  to  put  up  with — you'd  understand  nothing  about 
that — and  there  was  more  than  one  situation  I  was  thrown 
out  of  when  they  found  I  had  a  child.  For  they  didn't  like 
loose  women  in  their  houses  ;  I  had  them  very  words  said 
about  me.  And  while  I  was  going  through  all  that  you 
was  living  in  riches  with  a  lady  in  foreign  parts  ;  and  now 
when  she  could  put  up  with  you  no  longer,  and  you're 
kicked  out,  you  come  to  me  and  ask  for  your  share  of  the 
child.  Share  of  the  child  !  What  share  is  yours,  I'd  like 
to  know  ?" 

"Esther!" 

"  In  your  mean,  underhand  way  you  come  here  on 
the  sly  to  see  if  you  can't  steal  the  love  of  the  child 
from  me." 

She  could  speak  no  more  ;  her  strength  was  giving  way 
before  the  tumult  of  her  passion,  and  the  silence  that  had 
come  suddenly  into  the  room  was  more  terrible  than  her 
words.  William  stood  quaking,  horrified,  wishing  the 
earth  would  swallow  him;  Mrs.  Lewis  watched  Esther's 
pale  face,  fearing  that  she  would  faint ;  Jackie,  his  grey 
eyes  open  round,  held  his  broken  boat  still  in  his  hand. 
The  sense  of  the  scene  had  hardly  caught  on  his  childish 
brain  ;  he  was  very  frightened,  and  Mrs.  Lewis  took  him 
in  her  arms  and  tried  to  soothe  him.  William  tried  to 
speak  ;  his  lips  moved,  but  no  words  came. 

Mrs.  Lewis  whispered,  "  You'll  get  no  good  out  of  her 
now,  her  temper's  up  ;  you'd  better  go.  She  don't  know 
what  she's  a- saying  of." 

"If  one  of  us  has  to  go,"  said  William,  taking  the  hint, 
"  there  can't  be  much  doubt  which  of  us."     He  stood  at 


ESTHER  WATERS  241 

the  door  holding  his  hat,  just  as  if  he  were  going  to  put  it 
on.  Esther  stood  with  her  back  turned  to  him.  At  last 
he  said  : 

"  Good-bye,  Jackie.  I  suppose  you  don't  want  to  see 
me  again  ?" 

For  reply  Jackie  threw  his  boat  away  and  clung  to  Mrs. 
Lewis  for  protection.  William's  face  showed  that  he  was 
pained  by  Jackie's  refusal. 

"  Try  to  get  your  mother  to  forgive  me  ;  but  you  are 
right  to  love  her  best.  She's  been  a  good  mother  to  you." 
He  put  on  his  hat  and  went  without  another  word.  No 
one  spoke,  and  every  moment  the  silence  grew  more 
paralysing.  Jackie  examined  his  broken  boat  for  a 
moment,  and  then  he  put  it  away,  as  if  it  had  ceased  to 
have  any  interest  for  him.  There  was  no  chance  of  going 
to  the  Rye  that  day  ;  he  might  as  well  take  off  his  velvet 
suit ;  his  mother  liked  him  better  in  his  old  clothes. 

"You  shall  have  another  boat,  my  darling,"  she  said, 
leaning  across  the  table,  "  and  quite  as  good  as  the  one  I 
broke." 

"  Will  you,  mummie  ?  One  with  three  sails,  cutter- 
rigged,  like  that  ?" 

"  Yes,  dear,  you  shall  have  a  boat  with  three  sails." 

"And  when  will  you  buy  me  the  boat,  mummie — 
to-morrow  ?" 

"  As  soon  as  I  can,  Jackie." 

This  promise  appeared  to  satisfy  him.  Suddenly  he 
looked : 

"  Is  father  coming  back  no  more  ?" 

"  Do  you  want  him  back  ?" 

Jackie  hesitated  ;  his  mother  pressed  him  for  an  answer. 
-    "  Not  if  you  don't,  mummie." 

''But  if  he  was  to  give  you  another  boat,  one  with  four 
sails  r 

"  They  don't  have  four  sails,  not  them  with  one  mast." 

R 


242  ESTHER  WATERS 

"  If  he  was  to  give  you  a  boat  with  two  masts,  would 
you  take  it  ?" 

"  I  should  try  not  to,  I  should  try  ever  so  hard." 

There  were  tears  in  Jackie's  voice^  and  then,  as  if 
doubtful  of  his  power  to  resist  temptation,  he  buried  his 
face  in  his  mother's  bosom  and  sobbed. 

"  You  shall  have  another  boat,  my  darling." 

"  I  don't  want  no  boat  at  all !  J  love  you  better  than  a 
boat,  mummie,  indeed  I  do." 

"  And  what  about  those  clothes  ?  You'd  sooner  stop 
with  me  and  wear  those  shabby  clothes  than  go  to  him  and 
wear  a  pretty  velvet  suit  ?" 

"  You  can  send  back  the  velvet  suit." 

"  Can  I  ?  My  darling,  mummie  will  give  you  another 
velvet  suit,"  and  she  embraced  the  child  with  all  her 
strength,  and  covered  him  with  kisses. 

''  But  why  can't  I  wear  that  velvet  suit,  and  why  can't 
father  come  back  ?  Why  don't  you  like  father  ?  You 
shouldn't  be  cross  with  father  because  he  gave  me  the 
boat.     He  didn't  mean  no  harm." 

''  I  think  you  like  your  father.  You  like  him  better 
than  me." 

^'  Not  better  than  you,  mummie." 

"You  wouldn't  like  to  have  any  other  father  except 
your  own  real  father  ?" 

"  How  could  I  have  a  father  that  wasn  t  my  own  rea 
father  ?" 

Esther  did  not  press  the  point,  and  soon  after  Jackie 
began  to  talk  about  the  possibility  of  mending  his  boat ; 
and  feeling  that  something  irrevocable  had  happened, 
Esther  put  on  her  hat  and  jacket,  and  Mrs.  Lewis  and 
Jackie  accompanied  her  to  the  station.  The  women  kissed 
each  other  on  the  platform  and  were  reconciled,  but  there 
was  a  vague  sensation  of  sadness  in  the  leave-taking  wliich 
neither  understood.     And  a  moment  after  Esther  sat  alone 


ESTHER  WATERS  243 

in  a  third-class  carriage  absorbed  in  consideration  of  the 
problem  of  her  Ufe.  The  hfe  she  had  dreamed  would 
never  be  hers — somehow  she  seemed  to  know  that  she 
would  never  be  Fred's  wife.  I 

She  had  made  up  her  mind  to  see  William  no  more,  but  he 
wrote  asking  how  she  would  like  him  to  contribute  towards 
the  maintenance  of  the  child,  and  this  could  not  be  settled 
without  personal  interviews.  Miss  Rice  and  Mrs.  Lewis 
seemed  to  take  it  for  granted  that  she  would  marry 
William  when  he  obtained  his  divorce.  He  had  been  to 
a  lawyer  about  it,  and  the  lawyer  said  there  would  be  no  ^ 
difficulty,  the  adultery  being  admitted  ;  and  whenever  she  l^-j 
saw  Jackie  he  inquired  after  his  father ;  he  hoped,  too, 
that  she  had  forgiven  poor  father,  who  had  "  never  meant 
no  harm  at  all."  So  everything  was  working  to  get  her 
away  from  Fred,  and  she  could  see  that  she  had  done 
wrong  in  allowing  her  feelings  to  be  overruled  by  Miss 
Rice,  who  had,  of  course,  advised  her  for  the  best.  Jackie 
would  never  take  kindly  to  Fred  as  a  stepfather,  and 
would  grow  to  dislike  him  more  and  more  ;  and  when  he 
grew  older  he  would  keep  away  from  the  house  on 
account  of  the  presence  of  his  stepfather ;  it  would  end 
by  his  going  to  live  with  William,  and  his  being  led  into  a 
life  of  betting  and  drinking. 

XXVII. 

It  was  one  evening  as  she  was  putting  things  away  in  the 
kitchen  before  going  up  to  bed  that  she  heard  someone 
rap  at  the  window.  Could  this  be  Fred  ?  Her  heart  was 
beating  ;  she  must  let  him  in.  The  area  was  in  darkness  ; 
she  could  see  no  one. 

"  Who  is  there  ?"  she  cried. 

''  It's  only  me.     I  had  to  see  you  to-night  on " 

She  drew  an  easier  breath,  and  asked  him  to  come  in. 


244  ESTHER  WATERS 

William  had  expected  a  rougher  reception.  The  tone  in 
which  Esther  invited  him  in  was  almost  one  of  welcome,  and 
there  was  no  need  of  so  many  excuses  ;  but  he  had  come 
prepared  with  excuses,  and  a  few  ran  off  his  tongue  before 
he  was  aware. 

"  Well,"  said  Esther, "  it  is  rather  late.  I  was  just  going 
up  to  bed  ;  but  you  can  tell  me  what  you've  come  about, 
if  it  won't  take  long." 

"  It  won't  take  long.  I've  seen  my  solicitor  this  after- 
noon, and  he  says  that  I  shall  find  it  very  difficult  to  get  a 
divorce." 

"  So  you  can't  get  your  divorce  ?" 

"  Are  you  glad  ?" 

"\  don't  know." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  You  must  be  either  glad  or 
sorry." 

"  I  said  what  I  mean.  I  am  not  given  to  telling  lies." 
Esther  set  the  large  tin  candlestick,  on  which  a  wick  was 
spluttering,  on  the  kitchen  table,  and  William  looked  at 
her  inquiringly.  She  was  always  a  bit  of  a  mystery  to 
him.  And  then  he  told  her,  speaking  very  quickly,  how 
he  had  neglected  to  secure  proofs  of  his  wife's  infidelity  at 
^  ^  the  time ;  and  as  she  had  lived  a  circumspect  although  a 
^__guilty  life  ever  since,  the  solicitor  thought  that  it  would  be 
difficult  to  establish  a  case  against  her. 

"  Perhaps  she  never  was  guilty,"  said  Esther,  unable  to 
restrain  the  temptation  to  irritate. 

"  Not  guilty  !  what  do  you  mean  ?  Haven't  I  told  you 
how  I  found  them  the  day  I  came  up  from  Ascot?  And 
didn't  she  own  up  to  it  ?  What  more  proof  do  you 
want  ?" 

''  Anyway,  it  appears  you  haven't  enough  ;  what  are  you 
going  to  do  ?     Wait  until  you  catch  her  out  ?" 

"There   is   nothing   else  to  do,  unless "     William 

paused,  and  his  eves  wandered  from  Esther's. 


ESTHER  WATERS  245 

"  Unless  what  ?" 

"  Wellj  you  see,  my  solicitors  have  been  in  communica- 
tion with  her  solicitors,  and  her  solicitors  say  that  if  it 
were  the  other  way  round,  that  if  I  gave  her  reason  to  go 
against  me  for  a  divorce,  she  would  be  glad  of  the  chance. 
That's  all  they  said  at  first,  but  since  then  I've  seen  my 
wife,  and  she  says  that  if  I'll  give  her  cause  to  get  a 
divorce  she'll  not  only  go  for  it,  but  will  pay  all  the  legal 
expenses ;  it  won't  cost  us  a  penny.  What  do  you  think, 
Esther  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  understand.  You  don't 
mean '* 

"  You  see,  Esther,  that  to  get  a  divorce — there's  no  one 
who  can  hear  us,  is  there  ?" 

"  No,  there's  no  one  in  the  'ouse  except  me  and  the 
missus,  and  she's  in  the  study  reading.     Go  on." 

"  It  seems  that  one  of  the  parties  must  go  and  live  with 
another  party  before  either  can  get  a  divorce.  Do  you 
understand  ?" 

''  You  don't  mean  that  you  want  me  to  go  and  live  with 
you,  and  perhaps  get  left  a  second  time  ?" 

"  That's  all  rot,  Esther,  and  you  knows  it." 

*^  If  that's  all  you've  got  to  say  to  me  you'd  better  take 
your  hook." 

"  Do  you  see,  there's  the  child  to  consider  ?  And  you 
know  well  enough,  Esther,  that  you've  nothing  to  fear  ; 
you  knows  as  well  as  can  be  that  I  mean  to  run  straight 
this  time.  So  I  did  before.  But  let  bygones  be  bygones, 
and  I  know  you'd  like  the  child  to  have  a  father;  so  if 
only  for  his  sake " 

"  For  his  sake  !  I  like  that ;  as  if  I  hadn't  done  enough 
for  him.  Haven't  I  worked  and  slaved  myself  to  death 
and  a^one  about  in  ra^s  ?  That's  what  that  child  has  cost 
me.  Tell  me  what  he's  cost  you.  Not  a  penny  piece — a 
toy  boat  and  a  suit  of  velveteen  knickerbockers — and  yet 


246  ESTHER  WATERS 

you  come  telling  me — I'd  like  to  know  what's  expected  oi 
me.  Is  a  woman  never  to  think  of  herself?  Do  I  count 
for  nothing  ?  For  the  child's  sake,  indeed  !  Now,  if  it 
was  anyone  else  but  you  !  Just  tell  me  where  do  I  come 
in  ?  That's  what  I  want  to  know.  I've  played  the  game 
long  enough.  Where  do  I  come  in  ?  That's  what  I  want 
to  know." 

"There's  no  use  flying  in  a  passion,  Esther.  I  know 
you've  had  a  hard  time.  I  know  it  was  all  very  unlucky 
from  the  very  first.  But  there's  no  use  saying  that  you 
might  get  left  a  second  time,  for  you  know  well  enough 
that  that  ain't  true.  Say  you  won't  do  it ;  you're  a  free 
woman,  you  can  act  as  you  please.  It  would  be  unjust  to 
ask  you  to  give  up  anything  more  for  the  child  ;  I  agree 
with  you  in  all  that.  But  don't  fly  in  a  rage  with  me 
because  I  came  to  tell  you  there  was  no  other  way  out  of 
the  difficulty." 

"  You  can  go  and  live  with  another  woman,  and  get  a 
divorce  that  way." 

"  Yes,  I  can  do  that ;  but  I  first  thought  I'd  speak  to 
you  on  the  subject.  For  if  I  did  go  and  live  with  another 
woman  I  couldn't  very  well  desert  her  after  getting  a 
divorce." 

"  You  deserted  me." 
"  Why  go  back  on  that  old  story  ?" 

"  It  ain't  an  old  story,  it's  the  story  of  my  life,  and  I 
haven't  come  to  the  end  of  it  yet." 

"  But  you'll  have  got  to  the  end  of  it  if  you'll  do  what  I 
say." 

A  moment  later  Esther  said  : 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  want  to  get  a  divorce  for  at  all. 
I  daresay  your  wife  would  take  you  back  if  you  were  to 
ask  her." 

"She's  no  children,  and  never  will  have  none,  and 
marriage   is   a   poor   look-out   without   children — all   the 


ESTHER  WATERS  247 

worry  and  anxiety  for  nothing.  What  do  we  marry  for^ 
but  children  ?  There's  no  other  happiness.  I've  tried  ) 
everything  else " 

"But  I  haven't." 

"  I  know  all  that.  I  know  you've  had  a  damned  hard 
time,  Esther.  I've  had  a  good  week  at  Doncaster,  and 
have  enough  money  to  buy  my  partner  out ;  we  shall  'ave 
the  'ouse  to  ourselves,  and,  working  together,  I  don't 
think  we'll  'ave  much  difficulty  in  building  it  up  into  a 
very  nice  property,  all  of  which  will  in  time  go  to  the  boy. 
I'm  doing  pretty  well,  I  told  you,  in  the  betting  line,  but 
if  you  like  I'll  give  it  up.  I'll  never  lay  or  take  the  odds 
again.  I  can't  say  more,  Esther,  can  I  ?  Come,  say  yes,'* 
he  said,  reaching  his  arm  towards  her. 

"Don't  touch  me,"  she  said  surlily,  and  drew  back  a 
step  with  an  air  of  resolution  that  made  him  doubt  if  he 
would  be  able  to  persuade  her. 

"  Now,  Esther "     William  didn't  finish.     It  seemed 

useless  to  argue  with  her,  and  he  looked  at  the  great  red 
ash  of  the  tallow  candle. 

*'  You  are  the  mother  of  my  boy,  so  it  is  different ;  but 
to  advise  me  to  go  and  live  with  another  woman  !  I 
shouldn't  have  thought  it  of  a  religious  girl  like  you." 

"  Religion  !  There's  very  little  time  for  religion  in  the 
places  I've  had  to  work  in."  Then,  thinking  of  Fred,  she 
added  that  she  had  returned  to  Christ,  and  hoped  he 
would  forgive  her.  William  encouraged  her  to  speak 
ot  herself,  remarking  that,  chapel  or  no  chapel,  she 
seemed  just  as  severe  as  ever.  "  If  you  won't,  I  can 
only  say  I  am  sorry  ;  but  that  shan't  prevent  me  from 
paying  you  as  much  a  week  as  you  think  necessary  for 
Jack's  keep  and  his  schooling.  I  don't  want  the  boy  to 
cost  you  anything.  I'd  like  to  do  a  great  deal  more  for 
the  boy,  but  I  can't  do  more  unless  you  make  him  my 
child." 


248  ESTHER  WATERS 

"  And  I  can  only  do  that  by  going  away  to  live  with 
you  ?"  The  words  brought  an  instinctive  look  of  desire 
into  her  eyes. 

"  In  six  months  we  shall  be  man  and  wife.  .  .  .  Say 
yes." 

«  1  can't.     I  can%  don't  ask  me." 

"  You're  afraid  to  trust  me,  is  that  it  ?" 

Esther  did  not  answer. 

''  I  can  make  that  all  right :  I'll  settle  £500  on  you  and 
the  child." 

She  looked  up :  the  same  look  was  in  her  eyes,  only 
modified,  softened  by  some  feeling  of  tenderness  which 
had  come  into  her  heart. 

He  put  his  arm  round  her ;  she  was  leaning  against  the 
table  ;  he  was  sitting  on  the  edge. 

"  You  know  that  I  mean  to  act  rightly  by  you." 

"Yes,  1  think  you  do." 

"Then  say  yes." 

"  I  can't — it  is  too  late." 

"  There's  another  chap.>" 

She  nodded. 

"  I  thought  as  much.     Do  you  care  for  him  .^" 

She  didn't  answer. 

He  drew  her  closer  to  him ;  he  could  see  that  she  was 
weeping,  and  he  kissed  her  on  her  neck  first,  and  then  on 
her  face  ;  and  he  continued  to  ask  her  if  she  loved  the 
other  chap.     At  last  she  signified  that  she  did  not. 

"Then  say  yes."  She  murmured  that  she  couldn't. 
"You  can,  you  can,  you  can."  He  kissed  her,  all  the 
while  reiterating,  "You  can,  you  can,  you  can,"  until 
it  became  a  sort  of  parrot  cry.  Several  minutes  elapsed, 
and  the  candle  began  to  splutter  in  its  socket.     She  said  : 

"  Let  me  go  ;  let  me  light  the  gas." 

As  she  sought  for  the  matches  she  caught  sight  of 
the  clock. 


ESTHER  WATERS  249 

"  I  did  not  know  it  was  so  late.'* 

"  Say  yes  before  I  go." 

''I  can't." 

And   it  was  impossible  to  extort  a  promise  from  her 
"  I'm  too  tired/'  she  said,  "let  me  go." 

He   took   her   in   his   arms   and  kissed   her,  and  said, 
"  My  own  little  wife." 

As  he  went  up  the  area  steps  she  remembered  that  he 
had  used   the  same  words  before,  and  tried  to  think  of 
Fred,   but   William's    great   square    shoulders   had   come 
between  her  and  this  meagre  little  man.     She  sighed,  and  ^ 
felt  once  again  that  her  will  was  overborne  by  ajorce    >^' 
whicli  she  could  not  contrvoTorunderstand. 


XXVHI. 

She  went  round  the  house  bolting  and  locking  the  doors, 
seeing  that  everything  was  made  fast  for  the  night,  and  it 
was  not  till  she  came  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  that  s^d 
thoughts  came  upon  her,  and  she  drew  her  hand  across 
her  eyes,  for  she  was  whelmed  in  a  sense  of  sorrow, 
which  she  could  not  understand,  which  she  had  not 
strength  to  grapple  with,  and  she  was  aware  that  life 
was  proving  too  strong  for  her,  that  she  could  make 
nothing  of  it,  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  did  not  care 
much  what  happened  to  her.  She  hadn't  even  strength 
for  blame,  and  merely  wondered  why  she  had  let  William 
kiss  her.  She  oughtn't  to  have  spoken  to  him  ;  above  all, 
she  ought  not  to  have  taken  him  to  see  the  child. 

She  slept  on  the  same  landing  as  Miss  Rice,  and  was 
moved  by  a  sudden  impulse  to  go  in  and  tell  her  the  story 
of  her  trouble.  But  what  good  ?  No  one  could  help  her. 
She  liked  Fred :  they  seemed  to  suit  each  other,  and  she 
could  have  made  him   a    good    wife  if  she    hadn't   met 


250  ESTHER  WATERS 

William.  '  She  thought  of  the  cottage  at  Mortlake,  and 
their  lives  in  it ;  and  she  sought  to  encourage  her 
liking  for  him  with  thoughts  of  the  meeting-house;  she 
thought  even  of  the  simple  black  dress  she  would  wear, 
and  how  they'd  stand  side  by  side  among  the  Lord's  people. 
But  if  she  were  to  marry  William  she'd  go  to  the  ''  King's 
Head/'  to  stand  behind  the  bar  and  serve  the  customers. 
She  had  never  seen  much  life,  and  felt  somehow  that  she 
would  like  to  see  a  little  life ;  there  would  not  be  much 
life  in  the  cottage  at  Mortlake ;  nothing  but  the  prayer- 
meeting.  She  stopped  thinking,  for  she  had  never 
thought  like  that  before,  and  it  seemed  as  if  some  other 
woman  whom  she  hardly  knew  was  thinking  for  her. 
She  seemed  like  one  standing  at  cross-roads,  unable  to 
decide  which  road  she  would  take.  If  she  took  the  road 
leading  to  the  cottage  and  the  prayer-meeting  her  life 
would  henceforth  be  secure.  She  could  see  her  life  from 
end  to  end,  even  to  the  time  when  Fred  would  come  and 
sit  b}^  her,  and  hold  her  hand  as  she  had  seen  his  father 
and  mother  sitting  side  by  side.  If  she  took  the  road 
to  the  public-house  and  the  race-course  she  did  not  know 
what  might  not  happen.  But  William  had  promised  to 
settle  £500  on  her  and  Jackie.  Her  life  would  be  secure 
either  way. 

All  the  same,  she  must  marry  Fred,  for  she  had 
promised  to  marry  him  ;  she  wished  to  be  a  good  woman, 
and  he  would  give  her  the  life  she  was  most  fitted  for, 
the  life  she  had  always  desired  ;  the  life  of  her  father 
and  mother,  the  life  of  her  childhood.  Yes,  she  would 
marry  Fred  in  spite  of  all,  only — something  at  that 
moment  seemed  to  take  her  by  the  throat — William 
had  come  between  her  and  that  life.  If  she  had  not  met 
him  at  Woodview  long  ago  ;  if  she  had  not  met  him  in  the 
Pembroke  Road  that  night  she  went  to  fetch  the  beer  for 
her  mistress's  dinner,  how  different  everything  would  have 


ESTHER  WATERS  251 

been  !     If  she  had  met  him  only  a  few  months  later,  when 
she  was  Fred's  wife  ! 

Wishing  she  might  go  to  sleep,  and  awake  the  wife 
of  one  or  the  other,  she  fell  asleep  to  dream  of  a  husband 
possessed  of  the  qualities  of  both,  and  a  life  that  was 
neither  all  chapel  nor  all  public-house.  But  soon  the  one 
became  two,  and  Esther  awoke  in  terror,  believing  she 
had  married  them  both. 


XXIX. 

If  Fred  had  said, "  Come  away  with  me,"  Esther  would  have 
followed  him.     But  when  she  called  at  the  shop  he  only 
spoke  of  his  holiday,  of  the  long  walks  he  had  taken,  and  the 
religious  and  political  meetings  he  had  attended.     To  this 
talk  Esther  listened  vaguely  ;  and  there  was  in  her  mind 
unconscious  regret  that  he  was  not  a  little  different.     Little 
irrelevant  thoughts  came  upon  her.     She  would  like  him 
better  if  he  wore  coloured  neckties  and  a  short  jacket ;  she 
wished  half  of  him  away — his  dowdiness,  his  sandy-coloured 
hair,  the  vague  eyes,  the  black  neckties,  the  long  loose 
frock-coat.      But  his! voice  was  keen  and  ringing,  and  when 
listening  her  heart  always  went  out  to  him,  and  she  felt 
that  she  might  entrust  her  life  to  him.      But  he  didn't 
seem  to  understand  her,  and  day  by  day,  against  her  will, 
the   thought   gripped    her   more    and   more   closely  that 
she  could  not  separate  Jackie  from  his  father.     She  would 
have  to  tell  Fred  the  whole  truth,  and  he  would  not  under- 
stand it ;  that  she  knew.     But  it  would  have  to  be  done, 
and  she  sent  round    to  say  she'd   like  to  see  him  when 
he  left  business.   Would  he  step  round  about  eight  o'clock  ? 
The  clock  had  hardly  struck  eight  when  she  heard  a 
tap  at  the  window.     She  opened  the  door  and  he  came  in, 
surprised  by  the  silence  with  which  she  received  him. 


252  ESTHER  WATERS 

"  I  hope  nothing  has  happened.   Is  anything  the  matter  ?" 

"Yes,  a  great  deal's  the  matter.  I'm  afraid  we  shall 
never  be  married,  Fred,  that's  what's  the  matter." 

"  How's  that,  Esther  ?  What  can  prevent  us  getting 
married  ?"  She  didn't  answer,  and  then  he  said,  "You've 
not  ceased  to  care  for  me  ?" 

"  No,  that's  not  it." 

"Jackie's  father  has  come  back?" 

"  You've  hit  it,  that's  what's  happened." 

"I'm  sorry  that  man  has  come  across  you  again.  I 
thought  you  told  me  he  was  married.  But,  Esther,  don't 
keep  me  in  suspense  ;  what  has  he  done  ?" 

"  Sit  down  ;  don't  stand  staring  at  me  in  that  way,  and 
I'll  tell  you  the  story.*' 

Then  in  a  strained  voice,  in  which  there  was  genuine 
suffering,  Esther  told  her  story,  laying  special  stress  on 
the  fact  that  she  had  done  her  best  to  prevent  him  from 
seeing  the  child. 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  could  have  forbidden  him  access 
to  the  child." 

He  often  used  words  that  Esther  did  not  understand, 
but  guessing  his  meaning,  she  answered  : 

"  That's  just  what  the  missus  said  ;  she  argued  me  into 
takino"  him  to  see  the  child.  I  knew  once  he'd  seen 
Jackie  there'd  be  no  getting  rid  of  him.  I  shall  never  get 
rid  of  him  again." 

"  He  has  no  claim  upon  you.  It  is  just  like  him,  low 
blackguard  fellow  that  he  is,  to  come  after  you,  persecuting 
you.  But  don't  you  fear ;  you  leave  him  to  me.  I'll  find 
a  way  of  stopping  his  little  game." 

Esther  looked  at  his  frail  figure. 

"  You  can  do  nothing  ;  no  one  can  do  nothing,"  she 
said,  and  the  tears  trembled  in  her  handsome  eyes. 
"He  wants  me  to  go  away  and  live  with  him,  so  that  his 
wife  may  be  able  to  divorce  him." 


ESTHER  WATERS  S55 

'^  Wants  you  to  go  away  and  live  with  him !  But  surely, 
Esther,  you  do  not " 

''  Yes,  he  wants  me  to  go  and  live  with  him,  so  that  his 
wife  can  get  a  divorce,"  Esther  answered,  for  the  suspense 
irritated  her  ;  "  and  how  can  I  refuse  to  go  with  him  ?" 

''  Esther,  are  you  serious  ?  You  cannot You  told  me 

that  you  did  not  love  him,  and  after  all "     He  waited 

for  Esther  to  speak. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  very  quickly,  "  there  is  no  way  out  of 
it  that  I  can  see." 

''  Esther,  that  man  has  tempted  you,  and  you  haven't 
prayed." 

She  did  not  answer. 

"  I  don't  want  to  hear  more  of  this,"  he  said,  catching 
up  his  hat.  ''  I  shouldn't  have  believed  it  if  I  had  not 
heard  it  from  your  lips  :  no,  not  if  the  whole  world  had 
told  me.  You  are  in  love  with  this  man,  though  you  may 
not  know  it,  and  you've  invented  this  story  as  a  pretext 
to  throw  me  over.     Good-bye,  Esther." 

"  Fred,  dear,  listen,  hear  me  out.  You'll  not  go  away 
in  that  hasty  way.  You're  the  only  friend  I  have.  Let 
me  explain." 

"  Explain  !  how  can  such  things  be  explained  .^" 

"  That's  what  I  thought  until  all  this  happened  to  me. 
I  have  suffered  dreadful  in  the  last  few  days.  I've  wept 
bitter  tears,  and  I  thought  of  all  you  said  about  the  'ome 
you  was  going  to  give  me."  Her  sincerity  was  unmis- 
takable, and  Fred  doubted  her  no  longer.  "  I'm  very 
fond  of  you,  Fred,  and  if  things  had  been  different  I 
think  I  might  have  made  you  a  good  wife.  But  it  wasn't 
to  be." 

"  Esther,  I  don't  understand.  You  need  never  see  this 
man  again  if  you  don't  wish  it." 

"Nay,  nay,  things  ain't  so  easily  changed  as  all  that. 
He's  the  father  of  my  child,  he's  got  money,  and  he'll 


254  ESTHER  WATERS 

leave  his  money  to  his  child  if  he's  made  Jackie's  father 
in  the  eyes  of  the  law." 

"  That  can  be  done  without  your  going  to  live  with 
him." 

"Not  as  he  wants.  I  know  what  he  wants;  he  wants 
a  'omC;,  and  he  won't  be  put  off  with  less." 

"  How  men  can  be  so  wicked  as " 

"  No,  you  do  him  wrong.  He  ain't  no  more  wicked 
than  another  ;  he's  just  one  of  the  ordinary  sort — not  much 
better  nor  worse.  If  he'd  been  a  real  bad  lot  it  would 
have  been  better  for  us^  for  then  he'd  never  have  come 
between  us.  You're  beginning  to  understand,  Fred,  ain't 
you  ?  If  I  don't  go  with  him  my  boy '11  lose  everything. 
He  wants  a  'ome — a  real  'ome  with  children,  and  if  he 
can't  get  me  he'll  go  after  another  woman." 

"  And  are  you  jealous  ?" 

"  No,  Fred.  But  think  if  we  was  to  marry.  As  like 
as  not  I  should  have  children,  and  they'd  be  more  in  your 
sight  than  my  boy." 

"  Esther,  I  promise  that " 

"  Just  so,  Fred  ;  even  if  you  loved  him  like  your  own, 
you  can't  make  sure  that  he'd  love  you." 

"Jackie  and  I " 

"Ah,  yes;  he'd  have  liked  you  well  enough  if  he'd 
never  seen  his  father.  But  he's  that  keen  on  his  father, 
and  it  would  be  worse  later  on.  He'd  never  be  contented 
in  our  'ome.  He'd  be  always  after  him,  and  then  I  should 
never  see  him,  and  he  would  be  led  away  into  betting  and 
drink." 

"  If  his  father  is  that  sort  of  man,  the  best  chance  for 
Jackie  would  be  to  keep  him  out  of  his  way.  If  he  gets 
divorced  and  marries  another  woman  he  will  forget  ail 
about  Jackie." 

"Yes,  that  might  be,"  said  Esther,  and  Fred  pursued 
his  advantage.     But,  interrupting  him,  Esther  said  : 


ESTHER  WATERS  255 

"  Anyway,  Jackie  would  lose  all  his  father's  money ; 
the  public-house  would " 

"  So  you're  going  to  live  in  a  public-house,  Esther  ?" 

"A  woman  must  be  with  her  husband." 

"  But  he's  not  your  husband  ;  he's  another  woman's 
husband." 

"  He's  to  marry  me  when  he  gets  his  divorce." 

"He  may  desert  you  and  leave  you  with  another  child.'* 

"  You    can't   say   nothing   I    ain't  thought   of  already. 
I  must  put  up  with  the  risk.      I  suppose  it  is  a  part  of  the 
punishment  for  the  first  sin.     We  can't  do  wrong  without    ^^ 
being  punished — at  least  women  can't.     But  I  thought  I'd    ^ 
been  punished  enough." 

"The  second  sin  is  worse  than  the  first.  A  married 
man,  Esther — you  who  I  thought  so  religious." 

"  Ah,  religion  is  easy  enough  at  times^  but  there  is  other  ^_^ 
times  when  it  don't  seem  tojit  in  with  one's  duty.  I  may  "^ 
be  wrong^nSut  it  seems  natural  like — he's  the  father  of  ^^ 
my  child." 

"  I'm  afraid  your  mind  is  made  up,  Esther.  Think 
twice  before  it's  too  late." 

"  Fred,  I  can't  help  myself — can't  you  see  that }  Don't 
make  it  harder  for  me  by  talking  like  that." 

"  When  are  you  going  to  him  ?" 

"  To-night ;  he's  waiting  for  me." 

"  Then  good-bye,  Esther,  good " 

"  But  you'll  come  and  see  us." 

"  I  hope  you'll  be  happy,  Esther,  but  I  don't  think  we 
shall  see  much  more  of  each  other.  You  know  that  I  do 
not  frequent  public-houses." 

"  Yes,  I  know ;  but  you  might  come  and  see  me  in  the 
morning  when  we're  doing  no  business." 

Fred  smiled  sadly. 

"  Then  you  won't  come  ?"  she  said. 

"Good-bye,  Esther." 


256  ESTHER  WATERS 

They  shook  hands,  and  he  rushed  away.  She  dashed 
a  tear  from  her  eyes,  and  went  upstah's  to  her  mistress, 
who  had  rung  for  her. 

Miss  Rice  was  in  her  easy- chair,  reading.  A  long 
slanting  ray  entered  the  room  ;  the  bead  curtain  glittered, 
and  so  peaceful  was  the  impression  that  Esther  could  not 
but  perceive  the  contrast  between  her  own  troublous  life 
and  the  contented  privacy  of  this  slender  little  spinster's. 

"  Well,  miss,"  she  said,  ^'  it's  all  over.     I've  told  him." 

"Have  you,  Esther.?"  said  Miss  Rice.  Her  white, 
delicate  hands  fell  over  the  closed  volume.  She  wore  two 
little  colourless  rings  and  a  ruby  ring  which  caught  the 
light. 

"  Yes,  miss,  I've  told  him  all.  He  seemed  a  good  deal 
cut  up.  I  couldn't  help  crying  myself,  for  I  could  have 
made  him  a  good  wife — Im  sure  I  could ;  but  it  wasn't 
to  be." 

"  You've  told  him  you  were  going  off  to  live  with 
William?" 

"  Yes,  miss ;  there's  nothing  like  telling  the  whole  truth 
while  you're  about  it.     I  told  him  I  was  going  off  to-night." 

"  He's  a  very  religious  young  man  ?" 

"  Yes,  miss ;  he  spoke  to  me  about  religion,  but  I  told 
him  I  didn't  want  Jackie  to  be  a  fatherless  boy,  and  to 
lose  any  money  he  might  have  a  right  to.  It  don't  look 
right  to  go  and  live  with  a  married  man ;  but  you  knows, 
miss,  how  I'm  situated,  and  you  knows  that  I'm  only  doing 
it  because  it  seems  for  the  best." 

"  What  did  he  say  to  that?" 

"Nothing  much,  miss,  except  that  I  might  get  left  a 
second  time — and,  he  wasn't  slow  to  add,  with  another 
child." 

"  Have  you  thought  of  that  danger,  Esther  ?" 

"  Yes,  miss,  I've  thought  of  everything  ;  but  thinking 
don't  change  nothing.      Things  remain  just  the  same,  and 


ESTHER  WATERS  257 

youVe  to  chance  it  in  the  end — leastways  a  woman  has. 
Not  on  the  Hkes  of  you,  miss,  but  the  likes  of  us." 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Rice  reflectively,  "it  is  always  the 
woman  who  is  sacrificed."  And  her  thoughts  went  back 
for  a  moment  to  the  novel  she  was  writing,  so  pale  and 
conventional  did  it  seem  compared  with  this  rough  page 
torn  out  of  life. 

"  So  you're  going  to  live  in  a  public-house,  Esther  ? 
You're  going  to-night?  I've  paid  you  everything  I  owe 
you  .?" 

"  Yes,  miss,  you  'ave ;  you've  been  very  kind  to  me, 
indeed  you  'ave,  miss — I  shall  never  forget  you,  miss. 
I've  been  very  happy  in  your  service,  and  should  like 
nothing  better  than  to  remain  on  with  you." 

"All  I  can  say,  Esther,  is  that  you  have  been  a  very 
good  servant,  and  I'm  very  sorry  to  part  with  you.  And  I 
hope  you'll  remember  if  things  do  not  turn  out  as  well  as 
you  expect  them  to,  that  I  shall  always  be  glad  to  do  any- 
thing in  my  power  to  help  you.  You'll  always  find  a 
friend  in  me.     When  are  you  going  ?" 

"  As  soon  as  my  box  is  packed,  miss,  and  I  shall  have 
about  finished  by  the  time  the  new  servant  comes  in. 
She's  expected  at  nine  ;  there  she  is,  miss — that's  the 
area  bell.     Good-bye,  miss." 

Miss  Rice  held  out  her  hand.  Esther  took  it,  and  thus 
encouraged  she  said : 

"  There  never  was  anyone  that  clear-headed  and  warm- 
hearted as  yerself,  miss.  I  may  have  a  lot  of  trouble,  miss. 
If  I  wasn't  yer  servant  I'd  like  to  kiss  you." 

Miss  Rice  did  not  answer,  and  before  she  was  aware, 
Esther  had  taken  her  in  her  arms  and  kissed  her. 
"  You're  not  angry  with  me,  miss ;  I  couldn't  help 
myself." 

"  No,  Esther,  I'm  not  angry." 

"  I  must  go  now  and  let  her  in." 

8 


258  ESTHER  WATERS 

Miss  Rice  walked  towards  her  writing-table,  and  a  sense 
of  the  solitude  of  her  life  coming  upon  her  caused  her  to 
burst  into  tears — one  of  those  moments  of  sudden  effusion 
which  take  women  unawares.  But  her  new  servant  was 
coming  upstairs.  And  soon  after  she  heard  the  cabman's 
feet  on  the  staircase  as  he  went  up  for  Esther's  box,  and 
Esther  begging  him  to  be  careful  of  the  paint. 

The  girl  had  been  a  good  and  faithful  servant  to  her  ; 
she  was  sorry  to  lose  her.  Esther  was  sorry  that  anyone 
but  herself  should  have  the  looking  after  of  that  dear,  kind 
soul.  But  what  could  the  girl  do  ?  She  was  going  to  be 
married.  There  would  be  a  parlour  behind  the  bar,  in 
which  she  would  sit.  She  would  be  mistress  of  the  house. 
There  would  be  a  servant,  a  potboy,  and  perhaps  a  barmaid. 
This  sudden  change  of  feeling  surprised  her,  and  she 
found  excuses  in  the  recollection  that  she  had  striven  hard 
for  Fred,  but  as  she  had  failed  to  get  him,  it  was  only 
right  that  she  should  think  of  her  husband,  and  she 
thought  of  his  stalwart  figure  as  he  walked  down  the 
street. 

When  the  cab  swerved  round  the  Circus,  she  was  putting 
it  to  herself :  "  Was  she  up  to  conducting  a  business  like 
the  ^King's  Head'?" 

The  black,  crooked  perspectives  of  Soho  were  roofed 
with  the  sunset's  gold.  She  had  never  been  in  this 
part  of  London  before  ;  the  adventure  stimulated  her 
imagination,  and  she  wondered  where  she  was  going 
and  which  of  the  many  public-houses  was  hers.  But 
the  cabman  jingled  past  every  one.  It  seemed  as  if 
he  were  never  going  to  pull  up.  At  last  he  stopped  at 
the  corner  of  Dean  Street  and  Old  Compton  Street,  nearly 
opposite  a  cab  rank.  The  cabmen  were  inside,  having  a 
glass  ;  the  usual  vagrant  was  outside,  looking  after  the 
horses,  and  when  she  asked  him  if  he  had  seen  Mr.  Latch 
he  led  her  round  to  the  private  bar,  where  she  saw  William 


ESTHER  WATERS  259 

leaning  over  the  counter  deep  in  talk  and  the  sporting 
paper  spread  out  before  him. 

"Oh,  so  here  you  are  at  last,"  said  William,  coming 
towards  her.     "  I  expected  you  an  hour  ago." 

"  The  new  servant  was  late,  and  I  couldn't  leave  before 
she  came." 

"  Never  mind  ;  glad  you've  come.  You  know  John 
Randal,  or  Mr.  Leopold,  as  we  used  to  call  him  at 
Wood  view." 

Mr.  Leopold  shook  hands  with  Esther,  and  he  muttered 
a  "Glad  to  see  you  again."  But  it  was  the  welcome  of  a 
man  who  regards  a  woman's  presence  as  an  intrusion,  and 
Esther  understood  the  quiet  contempt  with  which  he 
looked  at  William.  "Can't  keep  away  from  them,"  his 
face  said  for  one  brief  moment.  But  William  didn't  notice 
these  things.  He  asked  Esther  what  she'd  take  to  drink, 
and  Mr.  Leopold  looked  at  his  watch  and  said  he  must  be 
getting  home. 

"  Try  to  come  round  to-morrow  night  if  you've  an  hour 
to  spare." 

" Then  you  don't  think  you'll  go  to  Newmarket?" 
"  No,  I  don't  think  I  shall  do  much  in  the  betting  way 
this  year.  But  come  round  to-morrow  night  if  you  can ; 
you'll  find  me  here.  I  must  be  here  to-morrow  night," 
he  said,  turning  to  Esther;  "I'll  tell  you  presently.'* 
The  men  had  a  few  more  words  ;  William  bade  John 
good-night,  and  coming  back  to  Esther,  he  said  : 

"W^hat  do  you  think  of  the  place?  Cosy,  ain't  it?" 
But  before  she  had  time  to  reply,  he  said:  "You've 
brought  me  good  luck.  I  won  two  'undred  and  fifty 
pounds  to-day,  and  the  money  will  come  in  very  'andy, 
for  Jim  Stevens,  that's  my  partner,  has  agreed  to  take 
half  the  money  on  account  and  a  bill  of  sale  for  the  rest. 
There  he  is;  I'll  introduce  you  to  him.  Jim,  come  this 
way,  will  you  ?" 


260  ESTHER  WATERS 

''In  a  moment,  when  I've  finished  drawing  this  *ere 
glass  of  beer/*  answered  a  thick-set,  short-limbed  man. 
He  was  in  his  shirt- sleeves,  and  he  crossed  the  bar  wiping 
the  beer  from  his  hands. 

''  Let  me  introduce  you  to  a  very  particular  friend  of 
mine,  Jim,  Miss  Waters." 

"Very  'appy,  I'm  sure,  to  make  your  acquaintance," 
said  Jim,  and  he  extended  his  fat  hand  across  the  counter. 
"  You  and  my  partner  are,  I  'ear,  going  to  take  this  'ere 
'ouse  off  my  hands.  Well,  you  ought  to  make  a  good 
thing  of  it.  There's  always  room  for  a  'ouse  that  supplies 
good  liquor.  What  can  I  hoffer  you,  madam  ?  Some  of 
our  whisky  'as  been  fourteen  years  in  bottle ;  or,  being  a 
lady,  perhaps  you'd  like  to  try  some  of  our  best  un- 
sweetened." 

Esther  declined,  but  William  said  they  could  not  leave 
without  drinking  the  health  of  the  house. 

''Irish  or  Scotch,  ma'am?     Mr.  Latch  drinks  Scotch." 

Seeing  that  she  could  not  avoid  taking  something,  Esther 
decided  that  she  would  try  the  unsweetened.  The  glasses 
were  clinked  across  the  counter,  and  William  whispered, 
"This  isn't  what  we  sell  to  the  public;  this  is  our  own 
special  tipple.  You  didn't  notice,  perhaps,  but  he  took 
the  bottle  from  the  third  row  on  the  left." 

At  that  moment  Esther's  cabman  came  in  and  wanted 
to  know  if  he  was  to  have  the  box  taken  down.  William 
said  it  had  better  remain  where  it  was, 

"I  don't  think  I  told  you  I'm  not  living  here;  my 
partner  has  the  upper  part  of  the  house,  but  he  says  he'll 
be  ready  to  turn  out  at  the  end  of  the  week.  I'm  living 
in  lodgings  near  Shaftesbury  Avenue,  so  we'd  better  keep 
the  cab  on." 


ESTHER  WATERS  «6l 


XXX. 


The  "  King's  Head  "  was  a  humble  place  in  the  old- 
fashioned  style,  the  floor  some  inches  lower  than  the 
street  and  the  ceiling  hardly  more  than  a  couple  of  feet 
above  the  head  of  a  tall  man.  There  were  three  bars. 
The  private  was  in  Dean  Street ;  a  few  swells  came  over 
from  the  theatre  to  call  for  brandies-and-sodas,  and  Esther 
served  them  between  the  little  shelves  of  the  little 
mahogany  what-not  on  the  counter.  Special  customers 
were  asked  into  the  parlour,  and  the  public  bar  was  in- 
conveniently crowded  by  a  dozen  people.  It  is  true 
there  was  a  jug-and-bottle  entrance,  but  the  "  King's 
Head "  was  not  an  up-to-date  public-house,  quite  the 
reverse.  It  had,  however,  one  thing  in  its  favour — it  was 
a  free  house,  and  William  said  they  had  only  to  go  on 
supplying  good  stuff,  and  trade  would  be  sure  to  come  back 
to  them.  The  last  lease-holder  had  done  them  much 
harm  by  systematic  adulteration,  and  Esther  was  more 
anxious  than  William  to  know  what  loss  the  books  showed. 
''  You're  never  here  in  the  daytime  ;  you  do  not  have 
these  empty  bars  staring  you  in  the  face  morning  and 
afternoon,"  and  then  she  would  tell  him  :  a  dozen  pots  of 
beer  about  dinner-time  and  a  few  glasses  of  bitter,  for 
there  had  been  a  rehearsal  over  the  way — that  was  about 
all. 

She  envied  the  painted  tiles  and  brass  lamps  in  the 
other  public-houses  as  she  returned  home  after  marketing, 
for  she  couldn't  help  having  a  peep  as  she  went  by,  and 
she  was  weary  of  sitting  behind  the  bar  sewing,  waiting 
for  Jackie  to  come  home  fi'om  school.  At  last  the  clock 
struck  five,  and  Jackie  peeped  through  the  doors,  dived 
under  the  counter,  and  ran  into  his  mother's  arms. 

"  Well,  did  you  get  full  marks  to-day  ?" 


262  ESTHER  WATERS 

^' Yes,  mummie,  I  got  full  marks." 

*' That's  a  good  boy — and  you  want  your  tea?" 

'^Yes,  mummie;  I'm  that  hungry  I  could  hardly  walk 
home." 

"  Hardly  walk  home  !     Wliat,  as  bad  as  that  ?" 

''  Yes,  mummie.  There's  a  new  shop  open  m  Oxford 
Street.  The  window  is  all  full  of  boats.  Do  you  think 
that  if  all  the  favourites  were  to  be  beaten  for  a  month, 
father  would  buy  me  one  ?" 

"  I  thought  you  was  so  hungry  you  couldn't  walk  home, 
dear?" 

"  Well,  mummie,  so  I  was,  but " 

Esther  laughed.  "  Well,  come  this  way  and  have  your 
tea."     She  went  into  the  parlour  and  rang  the  bell. 

^'^ Mummie,  may  I  have  buttered  toast?" 

^' Yes,  dear,  you  may." 

"  And  may  I  go  downstairs  and  help  Jane  to  make  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  you  can  do  that  too  ;  it  will  save  her  the  trouble 
of  coming  up.  Let  me  take  off  your  coat — give  me  your 
hat ;  now  run  along,  and  help  Jane  to  make  the  toast." 

Esther  opened  a  glass  door,  curtained  with  red  silk  ;  it 
led  from  the  bar  to  the  parlour,  a  tiny  room,  hardly  larger 
than  the  private  bar,  holding  with  difficulty  a  small  round 
table,  three  chairs,  and  an  arm-chair.  She  took  a  cloth 
from  the  cupboard  and  laid  the  table  for  Jackie's  tea,  who 
came  up  at  her  call,  telling  how  many  marbles  he  had  won, 
and  at  that  moment  voices  were  heard  in  the  bar. 

It  was  William,  tall  and  gaunt,  buttoned  up  in  a  grey 
frock-coat,  a  pair  of  field-glasses  slung  over  his  shoulders, 
returned  from  Newmarket  w^ith  his  clerk,  Fred  Blamey,  a 
feeble,  v-izen  little  man,  dressed  in  a  shabby  tweed  suit, 
covered  with  white  dust. 

^*  Put  that  bag  down,  Teddy,  and  come  and  have  a  drink." 

Esther  saw  at  once  that  things  had  not  gone  well  with 
him. 


ESTHER  WATERS  263 

"Have  the  favourites  been  winning?" 

"  Yes,  every  bloody  one.  Five  first  favourites  straight 
oft*  the  reel — three  yesterday,  and  two  second  favourites 
the  day  before.  By  God,  no  man  can  stand  up  against  it. 
Come,  what'll  you  have  to  drink,  Teddy?" 

"A  little  whisky,  please,  guv'nor." 

The  men  had  their  drink.  Then  William  told  Teddy  to 
take  his  bag  upstairs,  and  he  followed  Esther  into  the 
parlour.  She  could  see  that  Tie  had  been  losing  heavily, 
but  she  refrained  fi'om  asking  questions. 

"  Now,  Jackie,  you  keep  your  father  company  ;  tell  him 
how  you  got  on  at  school.  I'm  going  downstairs  to  look 
after  his  dinner." 

"  Don't  you  mind  about  my  dinner,  Esther,  don't  you 
trouble  ;  I  was  thinking  of  dining  at  a  restaurant.  I'll  be 
back  at  nine." 

"  Then  I'll  see  nothing  of  you.  We've  hardly  spoken  to 
one  another  this  week  ;  all  the  day  you're  away  racing, 
and  in  the  evening  you're  talking  to  your  friends  over  the 
bar.     We  never  have  a  moment  alone." 

"  Yes,  Esther,  1  know  ;  but  the  truth  is,  I'm  a  bit  down 
in  the  mouth.  I've  had  a  very  bad  week.  The  favourites 
has  been  winning,  and  I  overlaid  my  book  against  Wlieat- 
ear ;  I'd  heard  that  she  was  as  safe  as  'ouses.  I'll  meet 
some  pals  down  at  the  '  Cri ' ;  it  will  cheer  me  up." 

Seeing  how  disappointed  she  was,  he  hesitated,  and 
asked  what  there  was  for  dinner.  "  A  sole  and  a  nice 
piece  of  steak  ;  I'm  sure  you'll  like  it.  I've  a  lot  to  talk 
to  you  about.  Do  stop.  Bill,  to  please  me."  She  was 
very  winning  in  her  quiet,  grave  way,  so  he  took  her  in  his 
arms,  kissed  her,  and  said  he  would  stop,  that  no  one  could 
cook  a  sole  as  she  could,  that  it  gave  him  an  appetite  to 
think  of  it. 

"  And  may  I  stop  with  father  while  you  are  cooking  his 
dinner  ?"  said  Jackie. 


264  ESTHER  WATERS 

"  YeSj  you  can  do  that ;  but  you  must  go  to  bed  when  I 
bring  it  upstairs.     I  want  to  talk  with  father  then." 

Jackie  seemed  quite  satisfied  with  this  arrangement,  but 
when  Esther  came  upstairs  with  the  sole,  and  was  about  to 
hand  him  over  to  Jane,  he  begged  lustily  to  be  allowed 
to  remain  until  father  had  finished  his  fish.  ^^  It  won't 
matter  to  you,"  he  said  ;  ''you've  to  go  downstairs  to  fry 
the  steak." 

But  when  she  came  up  with  the  steak  he  was  unwilling 
as  ever  to  leave.  She  said  he  must  go  to  bed,  and  he 
knew  from  her  tone  that  argument  was  useless.  As  a  last 
consolation,  she  promised  him  that  she  would  come  upstairs 
and  kiss  him  before  he  went  to  sleep. 

"  You  will  come,  w^on't  you,  mummie  ?  I  shan't  go  to 
sleep  till  you  do."  Esther  and  William  both  laughed,  and 
Esther  was  pleased,  for  she  was  still  a  little  jealous  of  his 
love  for  his  father. 

"  Come  along,"  Jackie  cried  to  Jane,  and  he  ran  upstairs, 
chattering  to  her  about  the  toys  he  had  seen  in  Oxford 
Street.  Charles  was  lighting  the  gas.  Esther  had  to  go 
into  the  bar  to  serve  some  customers,  and  when  she 
returned,  William  was  smoking  his  pipe,  her  dinner  having 
had  its  effect — he  had  forgotten  his  losses,  and  was  willing 
to  tell  her  the  news.  And  he  had  a  bit  of  news  for  her. 
He  had  seen  Ginger ;  Ginger  had  come  up  as  cordial  as 
you  like  to  ask  him  what  price  he  was  laying. 

"  Did  he  bet  with  you  .^" 

"  Yes,  I  laid  him  ten  pounds  to  five." 

Once  more  William  began  to  lament  his  luck.  "  You'll 
have  better  luck  to-morrow,"  she  said.  "  The  favourites 
can't  go  on  winning.     Tell  me  about  Ginger." 

"There  isn't  much  to  tell.  We'd  a  little  chat.  He 
knew  all  about  the  little  arrangement,  the  five  hundred, 
you  know,  and  laughed  heartily.  Peggy's  married.  I've 
forgotten  the  chap's  name." 


ESTHER  WATERS  265 

"  The  one  that  you  kicked  downstairs  ?" 
"  No,  not  him.  I  can't  think  of  it.  No  matter,  Ginger 
remembered  you  ;  he  wished  us  luck,  took  the  address, 
and  said  he'd  come  in  to-night  to  see  you  if  he  possibly 
could.  I  don't  think  he's  been  doing  too  well  lately,  if  he 
had  he'd  been  more  stand-offish.  I  saw  Jimmy  White— 
you  remember  Jim,  the  little  fellow  we  used  to  call  the 
Demon,  'e  that  won  the  Stewards'  Cup  on  Silver  Braid  ? 
Didn't  you  and  'e  'ave  a  tussle  together  at  the  end  of 
dinner — the  first  day  you  come  down  from  town  .^" 
"  The  second  day  it  was." 

"  You're  right,  it  was  the  second  day.  The  first  day  1 
met  you  in  the  avenue  I  was  leaning  over  the  railings 
having  a  smoke,  and  you  come  along  with  a  heavy  bundle 
and  asked  me  the  way.  I  wasn't  in  service  at  that  time. 
Good  Lord,  how  time  does  slip  by  !  It  seems  like  yester- 
day. And  after  all  those  years  to  meet  you  as  you  was 
going  to  the  public  for  a  jug  of  beer,  and  'ere  we  are  man 
and  wife  sitting  side  by  side  in  our  own  'ouse." 

She  was  now  in  the  ''  King's  Head  "  nearly  a  year,  and 
had  begun  to  realize  that  she  had  got  a  good  husband  long 
before  they  stepped  round  to  the  nearest  registry  office  to 
be  married. 

Charles  opened  the  door.  "  Mr.  Randal  is  in  the  bar, 
sir,  and  would  like  to  have  a  word  with  you." 

^^  All  right,"  said  William.  "  Tell  him  I'm  coming  into 
the  bar  presently."  Charles  withdrew.  "  I'm  afraid," 
said  William,  lowering  his  voice,  "  that  the  old  chap  is  in 
a  bad  way.  He's  been  out  of  a  place  a  long  while,  and 
will  find  it  'ard  to  get  back  again.  Once  yer  begin  to  age 
a  bit,  they  won't  look  at  you.  We're  both  well  out  of 
that  business." 

Mr.  Randal  sat  in  his  favourite  corner  by  the  wall, 
smoking  his  clay.  He  wore  a  large  frock-coat,  vague  in 
shape,  pathetically  respectable.     The  round  hat  was  greasy 


266  ESTHER  WATERS 

round  the  edges,  brown  and  dusty  on  top.  The  shh't  was 
clean  but  unstarched,  and  the  thin  throat  was  tied  with  an 
old  black  silk  cravat.  He  looked  himself,  the  old  servant 
out  of  situation — the  old  servant  who  would  never  be  in 
situation  again. 

"Been  'aving  an  'ell  of  a  time  at  Newanarket/'  said 
William  ;  "favourites  romping  in  one  after  the  other." 

"  I  saw  that  the  favourites  had  been  winning.  But  I 
know  of  something,  a  rank  outsider,  for  the  Leger.  I  got 
the  letter  this  morning.  I  thought  I'd  come  round  and 
tell  yer." 

"  Much  obliged,  old  mate,  but  it  don't  do  for  me  to 
listen  to  such  tales  ;  we  bookmakers  must  pay  no  attention 
to  information,  no  matter  how  correct  it  may  be.  Much 
obliged  all  the  same.     What  are  you  drinking  ?" 

''  I've  not  finished  my  glass  yet."  He  tossed  oif  the  last 
mouthful. 

"The  same  ?"  said  William. 

"Yes,  thank  you." 

William  drew  two  glasses  of  porter.  "  Here's  luck." 
The  men  nodded,  drank,  and  then  William  turned  to  speak 
to  a  group  at  the  other  end  of  the  bar.  "  One  moment," 
John  said,  touching  William  on  the  shoulder.  "'  It  is  the 
best  tip  I  ever  had  in  my  life.  I  'aven't  forgotten  what  I 
owe  you,  and  if  this  comes  off  I'll  be  able  to  pay  you  all 

back.     Lay  the  odds,  twenty  sovereigns  to  one  against " 

Old  John  looked  round  to  see  that  no  one  was  within  ear- 
shot, then  he  leant  forward  and  whispered  the  horse's 
name  in  William's  ear.  William  laughed.  "  If  you're  so 
sure  about  it  as  all  that,"  he  said,  "I'd  sooner  lend  you  the 
quid  to  back  the  horse  elsewhere." 

"  Will  you  lend  me  a  quid?" 

"  Lend  you  a  quid  and  five  first  favourites  romping  in 
one  after  another !  —  3'ou  must  take  me  for  Baron 
Rothschild.     You  think  because   I've  a  public-house   I'm 


ESTHER  WATERS  267 

coining  money  ;  well,  I  ain't.  It's  cruel  the  business  we 
do  here.  You  wouldn't  believe  it,  and  you  know  that 
better  liquor  can't  be  got  in  the  neighbourhood."  Old 
John  listened  with  the  indifference  of  a  man  whose  life  is 
absorbed  in  one  passion  and  who  can  interest  himself  with 
nothing  else.  Esther  asked  him  after  Mrs.  Randal  and 
his  children,  but  conversation  on  the  subject  was  always 
distasteful  to  him,  and  he  passed  it  over  with  few  words. 
As  soon  as  Esther  moved  away  he  leant  forward  and 
whispered  :  "  Lay  me  twelve  pounds  to  ten  shillings.  I'll 
be  sure  to  pay  you  ;  there's  a  new  restaurant  going  to 
open  in  Oxford  Street  and  I'm  going  to  apply  for  the 
place  of  head-waiter." 

•^^  Yes,  but  will  you  get  it?"  William  answered  brutally. 
He  didn't  mean  to  be  unkind,  but  his  nature  was  as  hard 
and  as  plain  as  a  kitchen -table.  The  chin  dropped  into 
the  unstarched  collar  and  the  old-fashioned  necktie,  and 
old  John  continued  smoking  unnoticed  by  anyone. 
Esther  looked  at  him.  She  saw  he  was  down  on  his  luck, 
and  she  remembered  the  tall,  melancholy,  pale-faced 
woman  whom  she  had  met  weeping  by  the  sea-shore  the 
day  that  Silver  Braid  had  won  the  cup.  She  wondered 
what  had  happened  to  her,  in  what  corner  she  lived,  and 
where  was  the  son  that  John  Randal  had  not  allowed 
to  enter  the  Barfield  establishment  as  page-boy,  thinking 
he  would  be  able  to  make  something  better  of  him  than 
a  servant  ? 

The  regular  customers  had  begun  to  come  in.  Esther 
greeted  them  with  nods  and  smiles  of  recognition.  She 
drew  the  beer  two  glasses  at  once  in  her  hand,  and  picked 
up  little  zinc  measures,  two  and  four  of  whisky,  and  filled 
them  from  a  small  tap.  She  usually  knew  the  taste  of  her 
customers.  When  she  made  a  mistake  she  muttered 
"  stupid,"  and  Mr.  Ketley  was  much  amused  at  her 
forgetting  that  he  always  drank  out  of  the  bottle ;  he  was 


268  ESTHER  WATERS 

one  of  the  few  who  came  to  the  "  King's  Head  "  who 
could  afford  sixpenny  whisky.  "  I  ought  to  have  known 
by  this  time,"  she  said.  "  Well,  mistakes  will  occur  in  the 
best  regulated  families/'  the  little  butterman  replied. 
He  was  meagre  and  meek,  with  a  sallow  complexion  and 
blond  beard.  His  pale  eyes  were  anxious,  and  his  thin, 
bony  hands  restless.  His  general  manner  was  oppressed, 
and  he  frequently  raised  his  hat  to  wipe  his  forehead, 
which  was  high  and  bald.  At  his  elbow  stood  .Journeyman, 
Ketley's  very  opposite.  A  tall,  harsh,  angular  man,  long 
features,  a  dingy  complexion,  and  the  air  of  a  dismissed 
soldier.  He  held  a  glass  of  whisky-and-water  in  a  hairy 
hand,  and  bit  at  the  corner  of  a  brown  moustache.  He 
wore  a  threadbare  black  frock-coat,  and  carried  a 
newspaper  under  his  arm.  Ketley  and  Journeyman 
held  widely  different  views  regarding  the  best  means 
of  backing  horses.  Ketley  was  preoccupied  with  dreams 
and  omens ;  Journeyman,  a  clerk  in  the  parish  registry 
office,  studied  public  form ;  he  was  guided  by  it  in  all  his 
speculations,  and  paid  little  heed  to  the  various  rumours 
always  afloat  regarding  private  trials.  Public  form  he 
admitted  did  not  always  come  out  right,  but  if  a  man  had 
a  headpiece  and  could  remember  all  the  running,  public 
form  was  good  enough  to  follow.  Racing  with  Journeyman 
was  a  question  of  calculation,  and  great  therefore  was  his 
contempt  for  the  weak  and  smiling  Ketley,  whom  he  went 
for  on  all  occasions.  But  Ketley  was  pluckier  than  his 
appearance  indicated,  and  the  duels  between  the  two 
were  a  constant  source  of  amusement  in  the  bar  of  the 
"  King's  Head." 

"  Well,  Herbert,  the  omen  wasn't  altogether  up  to  the 
mark  this  time,"  said  Journeyman,  with  a  malicious 
twinkle  in  his  small  brown  eyes. 

"No,  it  was  one  of  them  unfortunate  accidents." 

"  One    of     them     unfortunate     accidents,"    repeated 


ESTHER  WATERS  269 

Journeyman,  derisively ;  "  what's  accidents  to  do  with 
them  that  'as  to  do  with  the  reading  of  omens  ?  I  thought 
they  rose  above  such  trifles  as  weights,  distances,  bad 
riding.  A  stone  or  two  should  make  no  difference  if  the 
omen  is  right." 

Ketley  was  no  way  put  out  by  the  slight  titter  that 
Journeyman's  retort  had  produced  in  the  group  abc.t  the 
bar.  He  drank  his  whisky-and-water  deliberately,  like 
one,  to  use  a  racing  expression,  who  had  been  over  the 
course  before. 

"  I've  'eard  that  argument.  I  know  all  about  it,  but  it 
don't  alter  me.  Too  many  strange  things  occur  for  me  to 
think  that  everything  can  be  calculated  with  a  bit  of  lead- 
pencil  in  a  greasy  pocket-book." 

'^What  has  the  grease  of  my  pocket-book  to  do  with 
it?"  replied  Journeyman,  looking  round.  The  company 
smiled  and  nodded.  "  You  says  that  signs  and  omens  is 
above  any  calculation  of  weights.  Never  mind  the  pocket- 
book,  greasy  or  not  greasy ;  you  says  that  these  omens  is 
more  to  be  depended  on  than  the  best  stable  information." 

"  I  thought  that  you  placed  no  reliance  on  stable 
information,  and  that  you  was  guided  by  the  weights  that 
you  calculated  in  that  'ere  pocket-book." 

"  What's  my  pocket-book  to  do  with  it  ?  You  want  to 
see  my  pocket-book  ;  well,  here  it  is,  and  I'll  bet  two 
glasses  of  beer  that  it  ain't  greasier  than  any  other  pocket- 
book  in  this  bar." 

"  I  don't  see  meself  what  pocket-books,  greasy  or  not 
greasy,  has  to  do  with  it,"  said  William.  "  Walter  put  a  fair 
question  to  Herbert.  The  omen  didn't  come  out  right, 
and  Walter  wanted  to  know  why  it  didn't  come  outright." 

"  That  was  it,"  said  Journeyman. 

All  eyes  were  now  fixed  on  Ketley.  "  You  want  to 
know  why  the  omen  wasn't  right }  I'll  tell  you — because 
it  was  no  omen  at  all,   that's  why.     The   omens   always 


270  ESTHER  WATERS 

comes  right ;  it  is  we  who  aren't  always  in  the  particular 
state  of  mind  that  allows  us  to  read  the  omens  right." 
Journeyman  shrugged  his  shoulders  contemptuously. 
Ketley  looked  at  him  with  the  same  expression  of  placid 
amusement.  "You'd  like  me  to  explain;  well,  I  will. 
The  omen  is  always  right,  but  we  aren't  always  in  the 
state  of  mind  for  the  reading  of  the  omen.  You  think 
that  ridiculous,  Walter :  but  why  should  omens  differ  from 
other  things  ?  Some  days  we  can  get  through  our 
accounts  in  'alf  the  time  we  can  at  other  times,  the  mind 
being  clearer.      I  asks  all  present  if  that  isn't  so." 

Ketley  had  got  hold  of  his  audience,  and  Journeyman's 
remark  about  closing  time  only  provoked  a  momentary 
titter.  Ketley  looked  long  and  steadily  at  Journeyman 
and  then  said  :  "  Perhaps  closing  time  won't  do  no  more 
for  your  calculation  of  weights  than  for  my  omens.  I 
know  them  jokes,  we've  heard  them  afore  ;  but  I'm  not 
making  jokes ;  I'm  talking  serious."  The  company 
^1  nodded  approval.  "  I  was  saying  there  was  times  when 
*,■'?  the  mind  is  fresh  like  the  morning.  That's  the  time  for 
them  what  'as  got  the  gift  of  reading  the  omens.  It  is  a 
sudden  light  that  comes  into  the  mind,  and  it  points 
straight  like  a  ray,  if  there  be  nothing  to  stop  it.  Now 
do  you  understand  ?"  No  one  had  understood,  but  all  felt 
that  they  were  on  the  point  of  understanding.  "The 
whole  thing  is  in  there  being  nothing  to  interrupt  the 
light." 

"  But  you  says  yourself  that  yer  can't  always  read 
them,' '  said  Journeyman  ;  "  an  accident  will  send  you  off 
on  the  wrong  tack,  so  it  all  comes  to  the  same  thing, 
omens  or  no  omens." 

"  A  man  will  trip  over  a  piece  of  wire  laid  across  the 

street,  but  that  don't  prove  he  can't  walk,  do  it,  Walter  ?" 

W^alter  was  unable  to  say  that  it  did  not,  and  so  Ketley 

scored   another  point   over   his   opponent.      "  I   made   a 


ESTHER  WATERS  271 

mistake,  I  know  I  did,  and  if  it  will  help  you  to 
understand  I'll  tell  you  how  it  was  made.  Three  weeks 
ago  I  was  in  this  'ere  bar  'aving  what  I  usually  takes. 
It  was  a  bit  early ;  none  of  you  fellows  had  come  in.  I 
don't  think  it  was  much  after  eight.  The  governor 
was  away  in  the  north  racin' — hadn't  been  home  for 
three  or  four  days  ;  the  missus  was  beginning  to  look  a 
bit  lonely."  Ketley  smiled  and  glanced  at  Esther,  who 
had  told  Charles  to  serve  some  customers,  and  was  listening 
as  intently  as  the  rest.  "  I'd  'ad  a  nice  bit  of  supper,  and 
was  just  feeling  that  fresh  and  clear  'eaded  as  I  was 
explaining  to  you  just  now  is  required  for  the  reading, 
thinking  of  nothing  in  perticler,  when  suddenly  the  light 
came.  I  remembered  a  conversation  I  'ad  with  a  chap 
about  American  corn.  He  wouldn't  'ear  of  the  Govern- 
ment taxing  corn  to  'elp  the  British  farmer.  Well,  that 
conversation  came  back  to  me  as  clear  as  if  the  dawn  had 
begun  to  break.  I  could  positively  see  the  bloody  corn ; 
I  could  pretty  well  'ave  counted  it.  I  felt  there  was  an 
omen  about  somewhere,  and  all  of  a  tremble  I  took  up  the 
-|  «-jer ;  it  was  lying  on  the  bar  just  where  your  hand  is, 
Walter.  But  at  that  moment,  just  as  I  was  about  to  cast 
my  eye  down  the  list  of  'orses,  a  cab  comes  down  the 
street  as  'ard  as  it  could  tear.  There  was  but  two  or  three 
of  us  in  the  bar,  and  we  rushed  out — the  shafts  was  broke, 
'orse  galloping  and  kicking,  and  the  cabby  'olding  on  as 
'ard  as  he  could.  But  it  was  no  good,  it  was  bound  to  go, 
and  over  it  went  against  the  kerb.  The  cabby,  poor  chap, 
was  pretty  well  shook  to  pieces  ;  his  leg  was  broke,  and 
we'd  to  'elp  to  take  him  to  the  hosspital.  Now  I  asks  if  it 
was  no  more  than  might  be  expected  that  I  should  have 
gone  wrong  about  the  omen.  Next  day,  as  luck  would 
have  it,  I  rolled  up  'alf  a  pound  of  butter  in  a  piece  of 
paper  on  which  '  Cross  Roads  '  was  written." 

^'  But  if  there  had  been  no  accident  and  you  'ad  looked 


272  ESTHER  WATERS 

down  the  list  of  'orses,  'ow  do  yer  know  that  yer  would 
'ave  spotted  the  winner?" 

"  What,  not  Wheatear,  and  with  all  that  American  corn 
in  my  'ead  ?     Is  it  likely  I'd  have  missed  it  ?" 

No  one  answered,  and  Ketley  drank  his  whisky  in  the 
midst  of  a  most  thoughtful  silence.  At  last  one  of  the 
group  said,  and  he  seemed  to  express  the  general  mind  of 
the  company — 

"I  don't  know  if  omens  be  worth  a-following  of,  but 
I'm  blowed  if  'orses  be  worth  backing  if  the  omens  is 
again  them." 

His  neighbour  answered  :  "  And  they  do  come  wonderful 
true  occasional.  They  'as  'appened  td^^aae,  and  I  daresay 
to  all  'ere  present."  The  company  nodded.  '*^ou've 
noticed  how  them  that  knows  nothing  at  all  about  'orses — 
the  less  they  knows  the  better  their  luck — will  look  down 
the  lot  and  spot  the  winner  from  pure  fancy — the  name 
that  catches  their  eye  as  likely." 

"There's  something  in  it,"  said  a  corpulent  butcher 
•with  huge,  pursy,  prominent  eyes  and  a  porteptous 
stomach.  "I  always  held  with  going  to  church,  and  i 
hold  still  more  with  going  to  church  since  I  backed  Vanity 
for  the  Chester  Cup.  I  was  a-falling  asleep  over  the 
sermon,  when  suddenly  I  wakes  up  hearing,  '  Vanity  of 
vanities,  and  all  is  vanity.'  " 

Several  similar  stories  were  told,  and  then  various 
systems  for  backing  horses  were  discussed.  "  You  don't 
believe  that  no  'orses  is  pulled?"  said  Mr.  Stack,  the 
porter  at  Sutherland  Mansions,  Oxford  Street,  a  large, 
bluff  man,  wearing  a  dark  blue  square-cut  frock  coat  with 
brass  buttons.  A  curious-looking  man,  with  red-stained 
skin,  dark  beady  eyes,^  a  scanty  growth  of  beard,  and  a 
loud,  assuming  voice.  "  You  don't  believe  that  no  'orses 
is  pulled?"  he  reiterated. 

•'  I    didn't  say  that  no  'orse   was   never   pulled,"   said 


ESTHER  WATERS  273 

Journeyman.  He  stood  with  his  back  leaning  against  the 
partition,  his  long  legs  stretched  out.  ^^  If  one  was  really 
in  the  know,  then  I  don't  say  nothing  about  it ;  but  who 
of  us  is  ever  really  in  the  know  ?" 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  about  that,"  said  Mr.  Stack.  "  There's 
a  young  man  in  my  mansions  that  'as  a  servant ;  this 
servant's  cousin,  a  girl  in  the  country,  keeps  company  with 
one  of  the  lads  in  the  White  House  stable.  If  that  ain't 
good  enough,  I  don't  know  what  is ;  good  enough  for  my 
half-crown  and  another  pint  of  beer  too,  Mrs.  Latch,  as 
you'll  be  that  kind." 

Esther   drew  the    beer,  and  old  John,   who  had  said 
nothing   till   now,  suddenly  joined  in   the  conversation. 
He,  too,  had  heard  of  something  ;  he  didn't  know  if  it  was 
the  same  as  Stack  had  heard  of;  he  didn't  expect  it  was. 
It   couldn't  very  well    be,    'cause  no   one    knew    of  this 
particular  horse,  not  a  soul — not  'alf  a  dozen  people  in  the 
world.     No,  he  would  tell  no  one  until  his  money  and  the 
stable  money  was  all  right.      And  he  didn't  care  for  no 
half-crowns   or   dollars    this   time,  if  he  couldn't   get   a 
sovereign  or  two  on  the  horse  he'd  let  it  alone.     This  time 
he'd   be    a  man  or  a  mouse.     Every  one    was   listening 
intently,  but  old  John  suddenly  assumed  an  air  of  mystery 
and  refused  to  say  another  word.     The  talk  worked  back 
whence  it   had   started,  and   again    the  best  method  of 
backing  horses  was  passionately  discussed.     Interrupting 
someone  whose  theories  seemed  silly,  Journeyman  said — 

'^  Let's  'ear  what's  the  governor's  opinion  ;  he  ought  to 
know  what  kind  of  backer  gets  the  most  out  of  him." 

Even  the  vagrant  who  had  taken  his  tankard  of  porter 
to  the  bench  where  he  could  drink  and  eat  what  fragments 
of  food  he  had  collected,  came  forward,  interested  to  know 
what  kind  of  backer  got  most  out  of  the  bookmaker. 

''  Well,"  said  William,  "  I  haven't  been  making  a  book 
as  long  as  some  of  them,  but  since  you  ask  me  what  I  think 

T 


274  ESTHER  WATERS 

I  tell  you  straight.  I  don't  care  a  damn  whether  they 
backs  according  to  their  judgment,  or  their  dreams,  or 
their  fancy.  The  cove  that  follows  favourites,  or  the  cove 
that  backs  a  jockey's  mount,  the  cove  that  makes  an 
occasional  bet  when  he  hears  of  a  good  thing,  the  cove 
that  bets  regular,  'cording  to  a  system — the  cove,  yer 
know,  what  doubles  every  time — or  the  cove  that  bets  as 
the  mood  takes  him — them  and  all  the  other  coves,  too 
numerous  to  be  mentioned,  I'm  glad  to  do  business  with. 
I  cries  out  to  one  as  'eartily  as  to  another :  '  The  old  firm, 
the  old  firm,  don't  forget  the  old  firm.  .  .  .  What  can  I 
do  for  you  to-day,  sir  ?'  There's  but  one  sort  of  cove  I 
can't  abide." 

''And  he  is "  said  Journeyman. 

"  He  is  Mr.  George  Buff." 

'"  Who's  he .''  who's  he  ?"  asked  several ;  and  the  vagrant 
caused  some  amusement  by  the  question,  "  Do  'e  bet  on 
the  course?" 

''Yes,  he  do,"  said  William,  "an'  nowhere  else.  He's 
at  every  meeting  as  reg'lar  as  if  he  was  a  bookie  himself. 
1  'ates  to  see  his  face.  I'd  be  a  rich  man  if  I'd  all  the 
money  that  man  'as  'ad  out  of  me  in  the  last  three 
years.'* 

"  What  should  you  say  was  his  system  ?"  asked  Mr. 
Stack. 

"  I  don't  know  no  more  than  yerselves." 
This  admission   seemed  a  little  chilling ;    for  everyone 
had  thought  himself  many  steps  nearer  El  Dorado. 

"  But  did  you  ever  notice,"  said  Mr.  Ketley,  "that  there 
was  certain  days  on  which  he  bet?" 
"  No,  I  never  noticed  that." 

"Are  they  outsiders  that  he  backs  ?"  asked  Stack. 
"  No,  only  favourites.      But  what  I  can't  make  out  is 
that  there  are  times   M'hen  he   won't  touch   them ;    and 
when  he  don't,  nine  times  out  often  they're  beaten." 


ESTHER  WATERS  275 

'^Are  the  'orses  he  backs  what  you'd  call  well  in?"  said 
Journeyman. 

"  Not  always." 

*^Then  it  must  be  on  information  from  the  stable 
authorities  ?"  said  Stack. 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  William  ;  '-  have  it  that  way  if  you 
like,  but  I'm  glad  there  ain't  many  about  like  him.  I 
wish  he'd  take  his  custom  elsewhere.  He  gives  me  the 
solid  hump,  he  do." 

'^  What  sort  of  man  should  you  say  he  was  ?  'as  he  been 
a  servant,  should  you  say.^"  asked  old  John. 

"  I  can't  tell  you  what  he  is.  Always  new  suit  of  clothes 
and  a  heye-glass.  Whenever  I  see  that  'ere  heye-glass  and 
that  brown  beard  my  heart  goes  down  in  my  boots.  When 
he  don't  bet  he  takes  no  notice,  walks  past  with  a  vague 
look  on  his  face,  as  if  he  didn't  see  the  people,  and  he 
don't  care  that  for  the  'orses.  Knowing  he  don't  mean  no 
business,  I  cries  to  him,  ^  The  best  price,  Mr.  Buff ;  two  to 
one  on  the  field,  ten  to  one  bar  two  or  three.'  He  just 
catches  his  heye-glass  tighter  in  eye  and  looks  at  me,  smiles, 
shakes  his  head,  and  goes  on.  He  is  a  warm  'un  ;  he  is 
just  about  as  'ot  as  they  make  'em." 

"  What  I  can't  make  out,"  said  Journeyman,  "  is  why  he 
bets  on  the  course.  You  say  he  don't  know  nothing  about 
horses.  Why  don't  he  remain  at  'ome  and  save  the  exes.^" 

"I've  thought  of  all  that,"  said  William,  "and  can't 
make  no  more  out  of  it  than  you  can  yerselves.  All  we 
know  is  that,  divided  up  between  five  or  six  of  us.  Buff 
costs  not  far  short  of  six  'undred  a  year." 

At  that  moment  a  small  blond  man  came  into  the  bar. 
Esther  knew  him  at  once.  It  was  Ginger.  He  had 
hardly  changed  at  all — a  little  sallower,  a  little  dryer,  a 
trifle  less  like  a  gentleman. 

"Won't  you  step  round,  sir,  to  the  private  bar?"  said 
William.     "  You'll  be  more  comfortable." 


276  ESTHER  WATERS 

*'  Hardly  worth  while.  I  was  at  the  theatre,  and  I 
thought  I'd  come  in  and  have  a  look  round.  I  see  that 
you  haven't  forgotten  the  old  horses/'  he  said,  catching 
sight  of  the  prints  of  Silver  Braid  and  Summer's  Dean 
which  William  had  hung  on  the  wall.  "  That  was  a  great 
day,  wasn't  it  ?  Fifty  to  one  chance,  started  at  thirty  ; 
and  you  remember  the  Gaffer  tried  him  to  win  with  twenty 
pound  more  than  he  had  to  carry.  Hullo,  John !  very 
glad  to  see  you  again  ;  growing  strong  and  well,  I  hope  ?" 

Esther  wondered  if  he  would  remember  her,  and  as  the 
thought  passed  through  her  mind  he  extended  his  hand 
across  the  bar. 

^'  I  'ope  I  may  have  the  honour  of  drinking  a  glass  of 
wine  with  you,  sir,"  said  W^illiam.  Ginger  raised  no 
objection,  and  William  told  Esther  to  go  downstairs  and 
fetch  up  a  bottle  of  champagne. 

To  meet  the  celebrated  gentleman-rider  was  a  great 
event  in  the  lives  of  Ketley,  Journeyman,  and  Stack.  But 
the  talk  was  of  the  Barfield  horses,  carried  on  by  the 
merest  allusion,  so  that  Journeyman  wearied  of  it,  and 
said  he  must  be  getting  home  ;  the  others  nodded, 
finished  their  glasses,  and  bade  William  good-night.  As 
they  left  a  couple  of  flower-girls  with  loose  hair,  shawls, 
and  trays  of  flowers,  suggestive  of  street-faring,  came  in 
and  ordered  four  ale,  and  the  same  moment  Charles,  who 
had  gone  through  with  the  ladder  to  turn  out  the  street 
lamp,  returned  with  a  light  overcoat  on  his  arm  which  he 
said  a  cove  outside  wanted  to  sell  him  for  two-and-six. 

"  Do  you  know  him  ?"  said  William. 

"  Yes,  I  knowed  him.  I  had  to  put  him  out  the  other 
night — Bill  Evans,  the  cove  that  wears  the  blue  Melton." 

As  he  spoke  a  man  between  thirty  and  forty  came  in. 
A  dark  olive  skin,  black  curly  hair,  picturesque  and  dis- 
reputable, like  a  bird  of  prey  in  his  blue  Melton  jacket 
and  billycock  hat. 


ESTHER  WATERS  277 

"  You'd  better  'ave  the  coat/'  he  said ;  "  you  won't  better 
it ;"  and  coming  into  the  bar  he  planked  down  a  penny  as 
if  it  were  a  sovereign.  "  Glass  of  porter ;  nice  warm 
weather^  good  for  the  'arvest.  Just  come  up  from  the 
country — a  bit  dusty,  ain't  I  ?" 

^' Ain't  you  the  chap/'  said  William,  "what  laid  Mr. 
Ketley  six  'alf-crowns  to  one  against  Cross  Roads?" 

Charles  nodded,  and  William  continued  : 

^'  I  like  your  cheek  coming  into  my  bar." 

'^  No  harm  done,  guv'nor ;  no  one  was  about ;  wouldn't 
'ave  done  it  if  they  had." 

"That'll  do,"  said  William.  "No,  he  don't  want  the 
coat.     We  likes  to  know  where  our  things  comes  from." 

Bill  Evans  finished  his  glass.  "  Good-night,  guv'nor ; 
no  ill-feeling." 

The  flower-girls  laughed ;  one  offered  him  a  flower. 
"Take  it  for  love,"  she  said,  and  the  three  went  out 
together. 

"  I  don't  like  the  looks  of  that  chap,"  said  William,  and 
he  let  go  the  champagne  cork.  "  Yer  health,  sir."  They 
raised  their  glasses,  and  the  conversation  turned  on  next 
week's  racing. 

"  I  dunno  about  next  week's  events,"  said  old  John, 
"but  I've  heard  of  something  for  the  Leger — an  outsider 
will  win." 

"  Have  you  backed  it  ?" 

"  I  would  if  I  had  the  money,  but  things  have  been 
going  very  unlucky  with  me  lately.  But  I'd  advise  you, 
sir,  to  have  a  trifle  on.  It's  the  best  tip  I  'ave  had  in 
my  life." 

"  Really  !"  said  Ginger,  beginning  to  feel  interested, "  so 
I  will,  and  so  shall  you.  I'm  damned  if  you  shan't  have 
your  bit  on.  Come,  what  is  it  ?  William  will  lay  the 
odds.     What  is  it?" 

"  Briar  Rose,  the  White  House  stable,  sir." 


278                          ESTHER  WATERS 
"  Why,  I  thought  that " 


"No  such  thing,  sir  ;  Briar  Rose's  the  one." 

Ginger  took  up  the  paper.  "  Twenty-five  to  one  Briar 
Rose  taken." 

"You  see,  sir,  it  was  taken." 

"  Will  you  lay  the  price,  William — twenty-five  half- 
sovereigns  to  one  ?" 

^' Yes,  I'll  lay  it." 

Ginger  took  a  half-sovereign  from  his  pocket  and 
handed  it  to  the  bookmaker. 

"  I  never  take  money  over  this  bar.  You're  good  for  a 
thin  'un,  sir,"  William  said,  with  a  smile,  as  he  handed 
back  the  money. 

''  But  I  don't  know  when  I  shall  see  you  again,"  said 
Ginger.  "  It  will  be  very  inconvenient.  There's  no  one 
in  the  bar." 

"  None  but  the  match-seller  and  them  two  flower-girls. 
I  suppose  they  don't  matter?" 

Henceforth  something  to  live  for.  Each  morning  bring- 
ing news  of  the  horse,  and  the  hours  of  the  afternoon 
passing  pleasantly,  full  of  thoughts  of  the  evening  paper 
and  the  gossip  of  the  bar.  A  bet  on  a  race  brings  hope 
into  lives  which  otherwise  would  be  hopeless. 


XXXI. 

Never  had  a  Derby  excited  greater  interest.  Four  hot 
favourites,  between  which  the  public  seemed  unable  to 
choose.  Two  to  one  taken  and  offered  against  Fly-leaf,  winner 
of  the  Two  Thousand  ;  four  to  one  taken  and  offered  against 
Signet-ring,  who,  half-trained,  had  run  Fly-leaf  to  a  head. 
Four  to  one  against  Necklace,  the  winner  of  the  Middle 
Park  Plate  and  the  One  Thousand.  Seven  to  one  against 
Dewberry,  the  brilliant  winner  of  the  Newmarket  stakes. 


ESTHER  WATERS  279 

The  chances  of  these  horses  were  argued  every  night  at 
the  "  King's  Head."  Ketley's  wife  used  to  wear  a  string 
of  yellow  beads  when  she  was  a  girl,  but  she  wasn't 
certain  what  had  become  of  them.  Ketley  did  not  wear  a 
signet-ring,  and  had  never  known  anyone  who  did.  Dew- 
berries grew  on  the  river  banks,  but  they  were  not  ripe 
yet.  Fly-leaf,  he  could  not  make  much  of  that — not 
being  a  reader  of  books.  So  what  with  one  thing 
and  another  Ketley  didn't  believe  in  this  'ere  Derby. 
Journeyman  caustically  remarked  that,  omens  or  no 
omens,  one  horse  was  bound  to  win.  Why  didn't  Herbert 
look  for  an  omen  among  the  outsiders  ?  Old  John's 
experiences  led  him  to  think  that  the  race  lay  between 
Fly-leaf  and  Signet-ring.  He  had  a  great  faith  in  blood, 
and  Signet-ring  came  of  a  more  staying  stock  than  did 
Fly-leaf.  "  When  they  begin  to  climb  out  of  the  dip  Fly- 
leaf will  have  had  about  enough  of  it."  Stack  nodded 
approval.  He  had  five  bob  on  Dewberry.  He  didn't 
know  much  about  his  staying  powers,  but  all  the  stable  is 
on  him  ;  '^  and  when  I  know  the  stable-money  is  right  I 
says,  ^That's  good  enough  for  me  !'  " 

Ginger,  who  came  in  occasionally,  was  very  sweet  on 
Necklace,  whom  he  declared  to  be  the  finest  mare  of  the 
century.  He  was  listened  to  with  hushed  attention,  and 
there  was  a  death-like  silence  in  the  bar  when  he  described 
how  she  had  won  the  One  Thousand.  He  wouldn't  have 
ridden  her  quite  that  way  himself ;  but  then  what  was  a 
steeplechase  rider's  opinion  worth  regarding  a  flat  race  ? 
The  company  demurred,  and  old  John  alluded  to  Ginger's 
magnificent  riding  when  he  won  the  Liverpool  on  Fox- 
cover,  steadying  the  horse  about  sixty  yards  from  home, 
and  bringing  him  up  with  a  rush  in  the  last  dozen  strides, 
nailing  Jim  Sutton,  who  had  persevered  all  the  way,  on 
the  very  post  by  a  head.  Bill  Evans,  who  happened  to 
look  in  that  evening,  said  he  wouldn't  be  surprised  to  see 


280  ESTHER  WATERS 

that  all  the  four  favourites  bowled  out  by  an  outsider.  He 
didn't  suppose  the  guv 'nor  would  take  him  on  the  nod^  but 
he  had  a  nice  watch  which  ought  to  be  good  for  three  ten. 

"Turn  it  up,  old  mate/'  said  William. 

"  All  right,  guv 'nor,  I  never  presses  my  goods  on  them 
that  don't  want  'em.  If  there's  any  other  gentleman  who 
would  like  to  look  at  this  'ere  timepiece,  or  a  pair  of 
sleeve  links,  they're  in  for  fifteen  shillings.  I'm  a  bit 
short  of  money,  and  having  a  fancy  for  a  certain  outsider, 
I'll  dispose  of  the  ticket  for— what  do  you  say  to  a  thin 
'un,  Mr.  Ketley  ?" 

"  Did  you  'ear  me  speak  just  now  ?"  William  answered 
angrily,  "  or  shall  I  have  to  get  over  the  counter  ?" 

"  I  suppose,  Mrs.  Latch,  you  have  seen  a  great  deal  ot 
racing  ?"  said  Ginger. 

"  No,  sir.  I've  heard  a  great  deal  about  racing,  but  I 
never  saw  a  race  run." 

"  How's  that,  shouldn't  you  care  ?" 

"  You  see,  my  husband  has  his  betting  to  attend  to,  and 
there's  the  house  to  look  after." 

"  I  never  thought  of  it  before,"  said  WilHam.  "  You've 
never  seen  a  race  run,  no  more  you  haven't.  Would  you 
care  to  come  and  see  the  Derby  run  next  week,  Esther  ?" 

"  I  think  I  should." 

At  that  moment  the  policeman  stopped  and  looked  in. 
All  eyes  went  up  to  the  clock,  and  Esther  said  :  "  We  shall 
lose  our  licence  if " 

"  If  we  don't  get  out,"  said  Ginger. 

William  apologized. 

"  The  law  is  the  law,  sir,  for  rich  and  poor  alike ;  should 
be  sorry  to  hurry  you,  sir,  but  in  these  days  very  little  wall 
lose  a  man  his  house.  Now,  Herbert,  finish  your  drink. 
No,  Walter,  can't  serve  any  more  liquor  to-night.  Charles, 
close  the  private  bar,  let  no  one  else  in.  Now^,  gentlemen, 
gentlemen." 


ESTHER  WATERS  281 

Old  John  lit  his  pipe  and  led  the  way.  William  held 
the  door  for  them.  A  few  minutes  after  the  house  was 
closed. 

A  locking  of  drawers,  fastening  of  doors,  putting  away 
glasses,  making  things  generally  tidy,  an  hour's  work 
before  bedtime,  and  then  they  lighted  their  candle  in  the 
little  parlour  and  went  upstairs. 

W^illiam  flung  off  his  coat.     "I'm  dead  beat,"  he  said, 

"  and  all  this  to  lose "     He  didn't  finish  the  sentence. 

Esther  said  : 

"You've  a  heavy  book  on  the  Derby.  Perhaps  an  out- 
sider'll  win." 

"  I  'ope  so.  But  if  you'd  care  to  see  the  race,  I  think  it 
can  be  managed.  I  shall  be  busy,  but  Journeyman  or 
Ketley  will  look  after  you." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  should  care  to  walk  about  all  day 
with  Journeyman,  nor  Ketley  neither." 

They  were  both  tired,  and  with  an  occasional  remark 
they  undressed  and  got  into  bed.  Esther  laid  her  head  on 
the  pillow  and  closed  her  eyes. 

"  I  wonder  if  there's  any  one  going  who  you'd  care  for  ?" 

"  I  don't  care  a  bit  about  it,  Bill."  At  the  end  of  a 
long  silence  William  said  : 

"  It  do  seem  strange  that  you  who  has  been  mixed  up  in 
it  so  much  should  never  have  seen  a  race."  Esther  didn't 
answer.  She  was  falling  asleep,  and  William's  voice  was 
beginning  to  sound  vague  in  her  ears.  Suddenly  she  felt 
him  give  her  a  great  shove.  "  Wake  up,  old  girl,  I've  got 
it.  .  Why  not  ask  your  old  pal,  Sarah  Tucker,  to  go  with 
us  ?  I  heard  John  say  she's  out  of  situation.  It'll  be  a 
nice  treat  for  her." 

"Ah.     I  should  like  to  see  Sarah  again." 

"You're  half  asleep." 

"No,  I'm  not ;  you  said  we  might  ask  Sarah  to  come  to 
the  Derby  with  us." 


282  ESTHER  WATERS 

William  regretted  that  he  hadn't  a  nice  trap  to  drive 
them  down.  But  to  hire  one  would  run  into  a  deal  of 
money^  and  he  was  afraid  it  might  make  him  late  on  the 
course.  Besides,  the  road  wasn't  what  it  used  to  be  ; 
every  one  goes  by  train  now  ;  and  they  dropped  off  to 
sleep  talking  of  how  they  should  get  Sarah's  address. 

Three  or  four  days  passed,  and  one  morning  William 
jumped  out  of  bed  and  said  : 

"  I  think  it  will  be  a  fine  day,  Esther."  He  took  out 
his  best  suit  of  clothes,  and  selected  a  handsome  silk  scarf 
for  the  occasion.  Esther  was  a  heavy  sleeper,  and  she  lay 
close  to  the  wall,  curled  up.  Taking  no  notice  of  her, 
William  went  on  dressing ;  then  he  said :  "  Now  then, 
Esther,  get  up.  Teddy  will  be  here  presently  to  pack  up 
my  clothes." 

"  Is  it  time  to  get  up .'"' 

"Yes,  I  should  think  it  was.     For  God's  sake,  get  up." 

She  had  a  new  dress  for  the  Derby,  one  that  had  been 
bought  in  Tottenham  Court  Road.  A  real  summer  dress  ! 
A  lilac  pattern  on  a  white  ground,  the  sleeves  and  throat 
and  the  white  hat  tastefully  trimmed  with  lilac  and  white 
lace,  and  a  nice  sunshade  to  match.  At  that  moment  a 
knock  came  at  the  door. 

"  All  right,  Teddy,  wait  a  moment,  my  wife's  not  dressed 
yet.     Do  make  haste,  Esther." 

Esther  stepped  into  the  skirt  so  as  not  to  ruffle  her  hair, 
and  she  was  buttoning  the  bodice  when  little  Mr.  Blamey 
entered. 

"  Sorry  to  disturb  you,  ma'am,  but  there  isn't  no  time  to 
lose  if  the  governor  don't  want  to  lose  his  place  on  the  'ill." 

"  Now  then,  Teddy,  make  haste,  get  the  toggery  out ; 
don't  stand  talking." 

The  little  man  spread  the  Gladstone  bag  upon  the  floor 
and  took  a  suit  of  checks  from  the  chest  of  drawers,  each 
square  of  black  and  white  nearly  as  large  as  a  sixpence. 


ESTHER  WATERS  283 

"You'll  wear  the  green  tie,  sir?"  William  nodded. 
The  green  tie  was  a  yard  of  flowing  sea-green  silk.  "  I've 
got  you  a  bunch  of  yellow  flowers,  sir  ;  will  you  wear  them 
now,  or  shall  I  put  them  in  the  bag?" 

William  glanced  at  the  posy.  "  They  look  a  bit 
loud/'  he  said ;  "  I'll  wait  till  we  get  on  the  course ;  put 
them  in  the  bag." 

The  card  to  be  worn  in  the  white  hat — "  William  Latch, 
London,"  in  gold  letters  on  a  green  ground — was  laid  on 
top.  The  boots  with  soles  three  inches  high  went  into 
the  box  on  which  William  stood  while  he  halloaed  his 
prices  to  the  crowd.  Then  there  were  the  two  poles 
which  supported  a  strip  of  white  linen,  on  which  was 
written  in  gold  letters,  "William  Latch,  ^ The  King's 
Head,'  London.     Fair  prices,  prompt  payment." 

It  was  a  grey  day,  with  shafts  of  sunlight  coming 
through,  and  as  the  cab  passed  over  Waterloo  Bridge, 
London,  various  embankments  and  St.  Paul's  on  one  side, 
wharves  and  warehouses  on  the  other,  appeared  in  grey 
curves  and  straight  silhouettes.  The  pavements  were 
lined  with  young  men — here  and  there  a  girl's  dress  was 
a  spot  of  colour  in  the  grey  morning.  At  the  station  they 
met  Journeyman  and  old  John,  but  Sarah  was  nowhere  to 
be  found.     William  said  : 

"  We  shall  be  late  ;  we  shall  have  to  go  without 
her." 

Esther's  face  clouded.  "We  can't  go  without  her; 
don't  be  so  impatient."  At  that  moment  a  white  muslin 
was  seen  in  the  distance,  and  Esther  said,  "  I  think  that 
that's  Sarah." 

"You  can  chatter  in  the  train — you'll  have  a  whole 
hour  to  talk  about  each  other's  dress;  get  in,  get  in." 
William  pressed  them  into  a  third-class  carriage,  and 
there  was  so  much  to  say  that  they  didn't  know  where  to 
begin. 


284  ESTHER  WATERS 

^'It  was  kind  of  you  to  think  of  me/'  said  Sarah.  "So 
you've  married,  and  to  him  after  all !"  she  added,  lowering 
her  voice. 

Esther  laughed.     "  It  do  seem  strange,  don't  it  ?" 

"You'll  tell  me  all  about  it,"  she  said.  "  I  wonder  we 
didn't  run  across  one  another  before." 

Out  of  the  grey  station  they  rolled  into  the  light,  the 
plate-glass  drawing  the  rays  together  till  they  burnt  the 
face  and  hands.  Now  they  were  speeding  alongside  of 
the  upper  windows  nearly  on  a  level  with  the  red  and 
yellow  chimney-pots.  A  moment  after  they  were  passing 
by  open  spaces  filled  with  cranes,  old  iron,  stacks  of  railway 
sleepers,  pictorial  advertisements,  sky  signs,  and  great 
gasometers  rising  round  and  black  in  their  iron  cages 
over-topping  or  nearly  the  distant  church  spires.  A  train- 
steamed  along  a  hundred-arched  viaduct ;  and  along  a 
black  embankment  the  other  trains  rushed  by  in  a  whirl 
of  wheels,  bringing  thousands  of  clerks  up  from  the  suburbs 
to  their  city  toil. 

The  excursion  jogged  on,  stopping  for  long  intervals 
before  strips  of  sordid  garden  where  shirts  and  pink  petti- 
coats were  blowing.  Little  streets  ascended  the  hillsides  ; 
no  more  trains,  'buses,  too,  had  disappeared,  and  afoot  the 
folk  hurried  along  the  lonely  pavements  of  their  suburbs. 
At  Clapham  Junction  betting  men  had  crowded  the  plat- 
form ;  they  all  wore  grey  overcoats  with  race-glasses  slung 
over  their  shoulders.  And  the  train  still  rolled  through 
the  brick  wilderness  which  old  John  said  was  all  country 
forty  years  ago. 

The  men  puffed  at  their  pipes  ;  old  John's  anecdotes 
about  the  days  when  he  and  the  Gaffer,  in  company  with 
all  the  great  racing  men  of  the  day,  used  to  drive  down 
by  road,  were  listened  to  with  admiration,  and  just  as 
Esther  finished  telling  Sarah  the  circumstances  in  which 
she  had  met   Margaret,   the  train  stopped  outside  of  a 


ESTHER  WATERS  285 

little  station,  and  the  blue  sky,  with  its  light  wispy  clouds, 
became  the  topic  of  conversation,  old  John  not  liking  the 
look  of  those  clouds,  and  the  women  glancing  at  the  water- 
proofs which  they  carried  on  their  arms. 

They  passed  bits  of  common  with  cows  and  a  stray 
horse,  also  a  little  rural  cemetery ;  but  London  suddenly 
began  again  parish  after  parish,  the  same  blue  roofs,  the 
same  tenement  houses.  The  train  had  passed  the  first 
cedar  and  the  first  tennis  lawn,  and  knowing  it  to  be  a 
Derby  excursion  the  players  paused  in  their  play  and 
looked  up.  Again  the  line  was  blocked  ;  the  train  stopped, 
but  it  had  left  London  behind,  and  the  next  stoppage  was 
in  front  of  a  thick  meadow  with  a  square  weather-beaten 
church  showing  between  the  spreading  trees,  and  all 
around  green  corn,  with  birds  flying  in  the  bright  air,  and 
lazy  clouds  going  out,  making  way  for  the  endless  blue  of 
a  long  summer's  day. 


XXXII. 

It  had  been  arranged  that  William  should  don  his  betting 
toggery  at  the  "Spread  Eagle  Inn."  It  stood  at  the 
cross-roads,  only  a  little  way  from  the  station — a  square 
house  with  a  pillared  porch.  Even  at  this  early  hour  the 
London  pilgrimage  was  filing  by.  Horses  were  drinking 
in  the  trough,  their  drivers  in  the  bar  ;  girls  in  light 
dresses  shared  glasses  of  beer  with  young  men  ;  but  the 
greater  number  of  vehicles  passed  without  stopping, 
anxious  to  get  on  the  course.  And  they  went  round 
the  turn  in  long  procession,  a  policeman  on  a  strong  horse 
occupying  the  middle  of  the  road.  The  waggonettes  and 
coaches  had  red- coated  guards,  and  the  ear  wearied  of 
the  tooting  of  long  brass  horns.  Every  kind  of  dingy 
trap  went  by,  sometimes  drawn  by  t^^  o,  sometimes  by  only 


286  ESTHER  WATERS 

one  horse  —  shays  half  a  century  old  jingled  along ; 
there  were  even  donkey-carts.  Esther  and  Sarah  were 
astonished  at  the  number  of  costers^  but  old  John  told 
them  that  that  was  nothing  to  what  it  was  fifty  years  ago. 
The  year  that  Andover  won  the  block  began  seven  or 
eight  miles  from  Epsom.  They  were  often  half-an-hour 
without  moving.  Such  chaffing  and  laughing,  the  coster 
cracked  his  joke  with  the  duke,  but  all  that  was  done 
away  with  now. 

"Gracious!"  said  Esther,  when  William  appeared  in  his 
betting  toggery.     "  I  shouldn't  have  known  you." 

He  did  seem  very  wonderful  in  his  checks,  green 
necktie,  yellow  flowers,  and  white  hat  with  its  gold 
inscription,  "Mr.  William  Latch,  London." 

'^  It's  all  right,"  he  said  ;  "  you  never  saw  me  before  in 
these  togs  —  fine,  ain't  they  ?  But  we're  very  late. 
Mr.  North  has  offered  to  run  me  up  to  the  course,  but  he's 
only  two  places.  Teddy  and  me  must  be  getting  along — 
but  you  needn't  hurry.  The  races  won't  begin  for  hours 
yet.  It's  only  about  a  mile — a  nice  walk.  These  gentle- 
men will  look  after  you.  You  know  where  to  find  me," 
he  said,  turning  to  John  and  Walter.  "  You'll  look  after 
my  wife  and  Miss  Tucker,  won't  you  ?"  and  he  and  Teddy 
jumped  forth  right  into  a  waggonette  and  drove  away. 

"Well,  that's  what  I  calls  cheek,"  said  Sarah.  ''Going 
off  by  himself  in  a  waggonette  and  leaving  us  to 
foot  it." 

"  He  must  look  after  his  place  on  the  'ill  or  else  he'll  do 
no  betting,"  said  Journeyman.  "  We've  plenty  of  time ; 
racing  don't  begin  till  after  one." 

Recollections  of  what  the  road  had  once  been  had 
loosened  John's  tongue,  and  he  continued  his  remini- 
scences of  the  great  days  when  Sir  Thomas  Hayward 
had  laid  fifteen  thousand  to  ten  thousand  three  times  over 
against  the  favourite.     The  third  bet  had  been    laid   at 


ESTHER  WATERS  287 

this  very  spot,  but  the  Duke  -wouldn't  accept  the  third 
bet,  saying  that  the  horse  was  then  being  backed  on  the 
course  at  evens.  So  Sir  Thomas  had  only  lost  thirty 
thousand  pounds  on  the  race.  Journeyman  was  deeply 
interested  in  the  anecdote ;  but  Sarah  looked  at  the  old 
man  with  a  look  that  said,  "Well,  if  I'm  to  pass  the  day 
with  you  two  I  never  want  to  go  to  the  Derby  again. 
Come  on  in  front,"  she  whispered  to  Esther,  "and  let 
them  talk  about  their  racing  by  themselves."  The  way 
led  through  a  field  ablaze  with  buttercups  ;  it  passed  by  a 
fish-pond  into  which  three  drunkards  were  gazing.  "  Do 
you  hear  what  they're  saying  about  the  fish  ?"  said 
Sarah. 

"  Don't  pay  no  attention  to  them,"  said  Esther.  "  If 
you  knew  as  much  about  drunkards  as  I  do,  you'd  want  no 
telling  to  give  them  a  wide  berth.  Isn't  the  country 
lovely?     Isn't  the  air  soft  and  warm  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  no  more  country.  I'm  that  glad  to 
get  back  to  town.  I  wouldn't  take  another  situation  out 
of  London  if  I  was  offered  twenty  a  year." 

"But  look,"  said  Esther,  "at  the  trees.  I've  hardly 
been  in  the  country  since  I  left  Woodview,  unless  you 
call  Dulwich  the  country  —  that's  where  Jackie  was  at 
nurse." 

The  Cockney  pilgrimage  passed  into  a  pleasant  lane 
overhung  with  chestnut  and  laburnum  trees.  The  spring 
had  been  late,  and  the  white  blossoms  stood  up  like 
candles  —  the  yellow  dropped  like  tassels,  and  the 
streaming  sunlight  filled  the  leaves  with  tints  of  pale  gold, 
and  their  light  shadows  patterned  the  red  earth  of  the 
pathway.  But  very  soon  this  pleasant  pathway  debouched 
on  a  thirsting  roadway  where  tired  horses  harnessed  to 
heavy  vehicles  toiled  up  a  long  hill  leading  to  the  Downs. 
The  trees  intercepted  the  view,  and  the  blown  dust 
whitened   the    foliage    and    the    wayside    grass,    now    in 


288  ESTHER  WATERS 

possession  of  hawker  and  vagrant.  The  crowd  made  way 
for  the  vehicles ;  and  the  young  men  in  blue  and  grey 
trousers,  and  their  girls  in  white  dresses,  turned  and 
watched  the  four  horses  bringing  along  the  tall  drag 
crowned  with  London  fashion,  and  the  unwieldy  omnibus, 
and  the  brake  filled  with  fat  girls  in  pink  dresses  and 
yellow  hats,  and  the  spring  cart  drawn  up  under  a  hedge. 
The  cottage  gates  were  crowded  wdth  folk  come  to  see 
London  going  to  the  Derby.  Outhouses  had  been 
converted  into  refreshment  bars,  and  from  these  came 
a  smell  of  beer  and  oranges  ;  farther  on  there  was  a 
lamentable  harmonium — a  blind  man  singing  hymns  to  its 
accompaniment,  and  a  one-legged  man  holding  his  hat  for 
alms ;  and  not  far  away  there  stood  an  earnest-eyed 
woman  offering  tracts,  warning  folk  of  their  danger, 
beseeching  them  to  retrace  their  steps. 

At  last  the  trees  ceased  and  they  found  themselves  on 
the  hilltop   in  a  glare  of  sunlight,  on  a  space  of  worn 
ground  where  donkeys  were  tethered. 
"  Is  this  the  Derby .''"  said  Sarah. 
"  I  hope  you're  not  disappointed  ?" 

"  No,  dear ;  but  where's  all  the  people  —  the  drags, 
the  carriages  ?" 

'^  We'll  see  them  presently,"  said  old  John,  and  he 
volunteered  some  explanations.  The  white  building  w^as 
the  Grand  Stand.  The  winning-post  was  a  little  farther 
this  way. 

"  Where  do  they  start  ?"  said  Sarah. 
"  Over  yonder,  where  you  see  that  clump.     They  run 
through  the  furze  right  up  to  Tattenham  Corner." 

A  vast  crowd  swarmed  over  the  opposite  hill,  and 
beyond  the  crowd  the  women  saw  a  piece  of  open  down- 
land  dotted  with  bushes,  and  rising  in  gentle  incline  to  a 
belt  of  trees  which  closed  the  horizon.  "  Where  them 
trees  are,  that's  Tallenham  Corner."     The  words  seemed  to 


ESTHER  WATERS  289 

fill  old  John  with  enthusiasm,  and  he  described  how  the 
horses  came  round  this  side  of  the  trees.  "  They  comes 
right  down  that  'ere  'ill  —  there's  the  dip  —  and  they 
finishes  opposite  to  where  we  is  standing.  Yonder,  by 
Barnard's  Ring." 

"  VMiat,  all  among  the  people  ?"  said  Sarah. 

"The  police  will  get  the  people  right  back  up  the  hill.'* 

"  That's  where  we  shall  find  William/'  said  Esther. 

"I'm  getting  a  bit  peckish  ;  ain't  you,  dear  ?  He's  got 
the  luncheon-basket.  But,  lor*,  what  a  lot  of  people  ! 
Look  at  that." 

What  had  attracted  Sarah's  attention  was  a  boy  walking 
through  the  crowd  on  a  pair  of  stilts  fully  eight  feet  high. 
He  uttered  short  warning  cries  from  time  to  time,  held 
out  his  wide  trousers  and  caught  pennies  in  his  conical 
cap.  Drags  and  carriages  continued  to  arrive.  The 
sweating  horses  were  unyoked,  and  grooms  and  helpers 
rolled  the  vehicles  into  position  along  the  rails.  Lackeys 
drew  forth  cases  of  wine  and  provisions,  and  the  flutter  of 
table-cloths  had  begun  to  attract  vagrants,  itinerant 
musicians,  fortune-tellers,  begging  children.  All  these 
plied  their  trades  round  the  fashion  of  grey  frock-coats  and 
silk  sunshades.  All  along  the  rails  rough  fellows  lay 
asleep  with  their  hats  over  their  faces,  clay  pipes  stickin^g- 
from  under  the  brims,  their  brown-red  hands  upon  the 
grey  grass. 

Suddenly  old  John  pleaded  an  appointment ;  he  was  to 
meet  a  friend  who  would  give  him  the  very  latest  news 
respecting  a  certain  horse ;  and  Esther,  Sarah,  and 
Journeyman  wandered  along  the  course  in  search  of 
William.  Along  the  rails  strangely-dressed  men  stood  on 
stools,  satchels  and  race-glasses  slung  over  their  shoulders, 
great  bouquets  in  their  button-holes.  Each  stood  between 
two  poles  on  which  was  stretched  a  piece  of  white- coloured 
linen,  on  which  was  inscribed   their  name  in  large  gold 

u 


290  ESTHER  WATERS 

letters.  Sarah  read  some  of  these  names  out :  "  Jack 
Hooper^  Marylebone.  All  bets  paid."  "Tom  Wood's 
famous  boxmg  rooms^  Epsom."  "James  Webster,  Com- 
mission Agent,  London."  And  these  betting  men  bawled 
the  prices  from  the  top  of  their  high  stools^  shaking 
their  money -filled  satchels  to  attract  custom.  "What 
can  I  do  for  you  to-day,  sir  ?"  they  shouted  Avhen 
they  caught  the  eye  of  any  respectably-dressed  man. 
"  On  the  Der-by,  on  the  Der-by,  I'll  bet  the  Der-by.  To 
win  or  a  place,  to  win  or  a  place,  to  win  or  a  place — seven 
to  one  bar  two  or  three,  seven  to  one  bar  two  or  three. 
The  old  firm,  the  old  firm," — like  so  many  challenging 
cocks,  each  trying  to  outshrill  the  other. 

Under  the  hillside  in  a  quiet  hollow  had  been  pitched 
a  large  and  commodious  tent.  Journeyman  mentioned 
that  it  was  the  West  London  Gospel-tent.  He  thought 
the  parson  would  have  it  pretty  well  all  to  himself,  and 
they  stopped  before  a  van  filled  with  barrels  of  Watford 
ales.  A  barrel  had  been  taken  from  the  van  and  placed 
on  a  small  table ;  glasses  of  beer  were  being  served  to  a 
thirsty  crowd  ;  and  all  around  were  little  canvas  shelters, 
whence  men  shouted,  "  'Commodation,  'commodation. " 

The  sun  had  risen  high,  and  what  clouds  remained 
floated  away  like  filaments  of  white  cotton.  The  Grand 
Stand,  dotted  like  a  ceiling  with  flies,  stood  out  distinct 
and  harsh  upon  a  burning  plain  of  blue.  The  light  beat 
fiercely  upon  the  booths,  the  carriages,  the  vehicles,  the 
"rings,"  the  various  stands.  The  country  around  was  lost 
in  the  haze  and  dazzle  of  the  sunlight ;  but  a  square  mile 
of  downland  fluttered  with  flags  and  canvas,  and  the  great 
mob  swelled,  and  smoked,  and  drank,  shied  sticks  at  Aunt 
Sally,  and  rode  wooden  horses.  And  through  this  crash  of 
perspiring,  shrieking  humanity  Journeyman,  Esther,  and 
Sarah  sought  vainly  for  William.  The  form  of  the  ground 
was  lost  in  the  multitude  and  they  could  only  tell  by  the 


ESTHER  WATERS  291 

strain  in  their  limbs  whether  they  were  walking  up  or 
down  hill.  Sarah  declared  herself  to  be  done  up,  and  it 
was  with  difficulty  that  she  was  persuaded  to  persevere  a 
little  longer.  At  last  Journeyman  caught  sight  of  the 
bookmaker's  square  shoulders. 

"  Well,  so  here  you  are.  What  can  I  do  for  you,  ladies  ? 
Ten  to  one  bar  three  or  four.     Will  that  suit  you  ?" 

^^The  luncheon-basket  will  suit  us  a  deal  better,"  said 
Sarah. 

At  that  moment  a  chap  came  up  jingling  two  half-crowns 
in  his  hand.  "  What  price  the  favourite  ?"  "  Two  to  one/' 
cried  William.  The  two  half-crowns  were  dropped  into 
the  satchel,  and,  thus  encouraged,  William  called  out  louder 
than  ever,  "  The  old  firm,  the  old  firm  ;  don't  forget  the 
old  firm."  There  was  a  smile  on  his  lips  while  he  halloaed 
— a  cheery,  good-natured  smile,  which  made  him  popular 
and  brought  him  many  a  customer. 

'^  On  the  Der-by,  on  the  Der-by,  on  the  Der-by  !"  All 
kinds  and  conditions  of  men  came  to  make  bets  with  him ; 
custom  was  brisk  ;  he  could  not  join  the  women,  who  were 
busy  with  the  lunch-basket,  but  he  and  Teddy  would  be 
thankful  for  the  biggest  drink  they  could  get  them. 
"  Ginger  beer  with  a  drop  of  whisky  in  it,  that's  about  it, 
Teddy?" 

''Yes,  guv'nor,  that'll  do  for  me.  We're  getting  pretty 
full  on  Dewberry ;  might  come  down  a  point,  I  think." 

''All  right,  Teddy.  And  if  you'd  cut  us  a  couple  each 
of  strong  sandwiches — you  can  manage  a  couple,  Teddy  V 

"  I  think  I  can,  guv'nor." 

There  was  a  nice  piece  of  beef  in  the  basket,  and  Esther 
cut  several  large  sandwiches,  buttering  the  bread  thickly 
and  adding  plenty  of  mustard.  When  she  brought  them 
over  William  bent  down  and  whispered  : 

"  My  own  duck  of  a  wife,  there's  no  one  like  her." 

Esther  blushed  and  laughed  with  pleasure,  and  every 


292  ESTHER  WATERS 

trace  of  the  resentment  for  the  suffering  he  had  occasioned 

her  dropped  out  of  her  heart.     For  the  first  time  he  was 

really  her  husband ;  for  the  first  time  she  felt  that  sense 

/  L  of  unity  in  life  which  is  marriage,  and  knew  henceforth  he 

.J  was  the  one  thing  that  she  had  to  live  for. 

After  luncheon  Journeyman,  who  was  making  no  way 
with  Sarah,  took  his  leave,  pleading  that  he  had  some 
friends  to  meet  in  Barnard's  Ring.  They  were  glad  to  be 
rid  of  him.  Sarah  had  many  a  tale  to  tell  ;  and  while 
listening  to  the  matrimonial  engagements  that  had  been 
broken  off,  Esther  shifted  her  parasol  from  time  to  time  to 
watch  her  tall,  gaunt  husband.  He  shouted  the  odds, 
willing  to  bet  against  every  horse,  distributed  tickets  to  the 
various  folk  that  crowded  round  him,  each  with  his 
preference,  his  prejudice,  his  belief  in  omens,  in  tips,  or  in 
the  talent  and  luck  of  a  favourite  jockey.  Sarah  continued 
her  cursive  chatter  regarding  the  places  she  had  served  in. 
She  felt  inclined  for  a  snooze,  but  was  afraid  it  would  not 
look  well.  While  hesitating  she  ceased  speaking,  and  both 
women  fell  asleep  under  the  shade  of  their  parasols.  It 
was  the  shallow,  glassy  sleep  of  the  open  air,  through  which 
they  divined  easily  the  great  blur  that  was  the  racecourse. 

They  could  hear  WiUiam's  voice,  and  they  heard  a  bell 
ring  and  shouts  of  ^'  Here  they  come  !"  Then  a  lull  came, 
and  their  perceptions  grew  a  little  denser,  and  when  they 
awoke  the  sky  was  the  same  burning  blue,  and  the  multi- 
tude moved  to  and  fro  like  puppets. 

Sarah  was  in  no  better  temper  after  than  before  her 
sleep.  "  It's  all  very  well  for  you,"  she  said.  "  You  have 
your  husband  to  look  after.  I'll  never  come  to  the  Derby 
again  without  a  young  man.  ...  I'm  tired  ot  sitting 
here,  the  grass  is  roasting.     Come  for  a  walk." 

They  were  two  nice-looking  English  women  of  the 
lower  classes,  prettily  dressed  in  light  gowns  with  cheap 
sunshades  in  their  cotton-gloved  hands.     Sarah  looked  at 


ESTHER  WATERS  293 

every  young  man  with  regretful  eyes.  In  such  moods 
acquaintanceships  are  made  ;  and  she  did  not  allow  Esther 
to  shake  off  Bill  Evans^  who,  just  as  if  he  had  never  been 
turned  out  of  the  bar  of  the  "  King's  Head/'  canje  up  with 
his  ftimiliar,  "  Good-morning,  ma'am — lovely  weather  for 
the  races."  Sarah's  sidelong  glances  at  the  blue  Melton 
jacket  and  the  billycock  hat  defined  her  feelings  ;  Esther 
held  her  tongue ;  her  warning  would  not  have  been 
heeded  ;  and  soon  Bill  and  Sarah  were  engaged  in 
animated  talk,  and  Esther  was  left  to  follow  them  if  she 
hked. 

She  walked  by  Sarah's  side,  almost  forgotten,  till  they 
passed  the  mission  tent,  where  Fred  was  calling  upon  the 
folk  to  leave  the  ways  of  Satan  for  those  of  Christ.  Bill 
Evans  was  about  to  answer  some  brutal  insult ;  but  seeing 
that  "the  Christian"  knew  Esther  he  checked  himself  in 
time,  and  seized  the  opportunity  to  slip  away  with  Sarah. 

"  I  didn't  expect  to  meet  you  here,  Esther." 

"I'm  here  with  my  husband.  He  said  a  little  plea- 
sure  " 

"  This  is  not  innocent  pleasure,  Esther ;  this  is  drunken- 
ness and  debauchery.  I  hope  you'll  never  come  again, 
unless  you  come  with  us,"  he  said,  pointing  to  some  girls 
dressed  as  bookmakers,  with  Salvation  and  Perdition 
written  on  the  satchels  hung  round  their  shoulders.  They 
sought  to  persuade  the  passers-by  to  come  into  the  tent. 
"  We  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  you,"  they  said,  and  they 
distributed  mock  racing  cards  on  which  was  inscribed 
news  regarding  certain  imaginary  racing.  "  The  Paradise 
Plate,  for  all  comers,"  "The  Salvation  Stakes,  an  Eternity 
of  Happiness  added." 

Fred  repeated  his  request.  "  I  hope  the  next  time  you 
come  here  it  will  be  with  us ;  you'll  strive  to  collect  some 
of  Christ's  lost  sheep." 

"And  my  husband  making  a  book  yonder?" 


294  ESTHER  WATERS 

An  awkward  silence  intervened,  and  then  lie  said : 

"  Won't  you  come  in  ;  service  is  going  on  ?" 

In  the  tent  there  were  some  benches,  and  on  a  platform 
a  grey-bearded  man  Avith  an  anxious  face  spoke  of  sinners 
and  redemption.  A  harmonium  began  to  play  a  hymn, 
and,  standing  by  Fred,  Esther  sang,  joining  in  the  psalm, 
prayer  being  so  inherent  in  her  that  she  felt  no  sense  of 
incongruity,  and  had  she  been  questioned  she  would  have 
answered  that  it  did  not  matter  where  we  are,  or  what  we 
are  doing,  we  can  always  have  God  in  our  hearts. 

Fred  followed  her  out. 

"  You  haven't  forgotten  your  religion,  I  hope  ?" 

"  No,  I  never  could  forget  that." 

"  Then  why  do  I  find  you  in  such  company  ?  You  don't 
come  here  like  us  to  find  sinners." 

"  I  haven't  forgotten  God,  but  I  must  do  my  duty  to 
my  husband.  It  would  be  like  setting  myself  up  against 
my  husband's  business,  and  you  don't  think  I  ought  to  do 
that  ?  A  wife  that  brings  discord  into  the  family  is  not  a 
good  Avife,  so  I've  often  heard." 

"You  always  thought  more  of  your  husband  than  of 
Christ,  Esther." 

"  Each  one  must  follow  Christ  as  best  he  can  !  It  would 
be  wrong  of  me  to  set  myself  against  my  husband." 

"  So  he  married  you  V  Fred  answered  bitterly. 

"Yes.  You  thought  he'd  desert  me  a  second  time; 
but  he's  been  the  best  o(  husbands." 

"  I  place  little  reliance  on  those  who  are  not  with  Christ. 
His  love  for  you  is  not  of  the  Spirit.  Let  us  not  speak  of 
him.  I  loved  you  very  deeply,  Esther.  I  would  have 
brought  you  to  Christ.  .  .  .  But  perhaps  you'll  come  to 
see  us  sometimes." 

"  I  do  not  forget  Christ.  He's  always  with  me,  and  I 
believe  you  did  care  for  me.  I  was  sorry  to  break  it  off ; 
you  know  I  was.     It  was  not  my  fault." 


ESTHER  WATERS  295 

''^ Esther,  it  was  I  who  loved  you." 

"  You  mustn't  talk  like  that.      I'm  a  married  woman." 

'^  I  mean  no  harm,  Esther.  1  was  only  thinking  of  the 
past." 

"  You  must  forget  all  that.  .  .  .  Good-bye ;  I'm  glad 
to  have  seen  you,  and  that  we  said  a  prayer  together." 

Fred  didn't  answer,  and  Esther  moved  away,  wondering 
where  she  should  find  Sarah. 


XXXIII. 

The  crowd  shouted.  She  looked  where  the  others  looked, 
but  saw  only  the  burning  blue  with  the  white  stand  marked 
upon  it.  It  was  crowded  like  the  deck  of  a  sinking  vessel, 
and  Esther  wondered  at  the  excitement,  the  cause  of  which 
was  hidden  from  her.  She  wandered  to  the  edge  of  the 
crowd  until  she  came  to  a  chalk  road  where  horses  and 
mules  were  tethered.  A  little  higher  up  she  entered  the 
crowd  again,  and  came  suddenly  upon  a  switchback  rail- 
way. Full  of  laughing  and  screaming  girls,  it  bumped 
over  a  middle  hill,  and  then  rose  slowly  till  it  reached  the 
last  summit.  It  was  shot  back  again  into  the  midst  of  its 
fictitious  perils,  and  this  mock  voyaging  was  accomplished 
to  the  sound  of  music  from  a  puppet  orchestra.  Bells  and 
drums,  a  fife  and  a  triangle,  cymbals  clashed  mechanically, 
and  a  little  soldier  beat  the  time.  Further  on,  under  a 
striped  awning,  w^ere  the  wooden  horses.  They  were 
arranged  so  well  that  they  rocked  to  and  fro,  imitating 
as  nearly  as  possible  the  action  of  real  horses.  Esther 
watched  the  riders.  A  blue  skirt  looked  like  a  riding 
habit,  and  a  girl  in  salmon  pink  leaned  back  in  her  saddle 
just  as  if  she  had  been  taught  how  to  ride.  A  girl  in  a 
grey  jacket  encouraged  a  girl  in  white  who  rode  a  grey 
horse.     But  before  Esther  could  make  out  for  certain  that 


^96  ESTHER  WATERS 

the  man  in  the  blue  Melton  jacket  was  Bill  Evans  he  had 
passed  out  of  sight,  and  she  had  to  wait  until  his  horse 
came  round  the  second  time.  At  that  moment  she  caught 
sight  of  the  red  poppies  in  Sarah's  hat. 

The  horses  began  to  slacken  speed.  They  went  slower 
and  slower,  then  stopped  altogether.  The  riders  began 
to  dismount,  and  Esther  pressed  through  the  bystanders, 
afraid  that  she  would  not  be  able  to  overtake  her  friends. 

"Oh,  here  you  are,"  said  Sarah.  "I  thought  I  never 
should  find  you  again.     How  hot  it  is  !" 

"  Were  you  on  in  that  ride  ?  Let's  have  another,  all 
three  of  us.     These  three  horses." 

Round  and  round  they  went,  their  steeds  bobbing  nobly 
up  and  down  to  the  sound  of  fifes,  drums  and  cymbals. 
They  passed  the  winning-post  many  times ;  they  had  to 
pass  it  five  times,  and  the  horse  that  stopped  nearest  it 
won  the  prize.  A  long-drawn-out  murmur,  continuous  as 
the  sea,  swelled  up  from  the  course — a  murmur  which  at 
last  passed  into  words  :  "  Here  they  come  ;  blue  wins,  the 
favourite's  beat."  Esther  paid  little  attention  to  these 
cries ;  she  did  not  understand  them ;  they  reached  her 
indistinctly  and  soon  died  away,  absorbed  in  the  strident 
music  that  accompanied  the  circling  horses.  These  had 
now  begun  to  slacken  speed.  .  .  .  They  went  slower  and 
slower.  Sarah  and  Bill,  who  rode  side  by  side,  seemed 
like  winning,  but  at  the  last  moment  they  glided  by  the 
winning-post.  Esther's  steed  stopped  in  time,  and  she 
was  told  to  choose  a  china  mug  from  a  great  heap. 

"  You've  all  the  luck  to-day,"  said  Bill.  "  Hayfield,  who 
was  backed  all  the  winter,  broke  down  a  month  ago.  .  .  . 
2  to  1  against  Fly-leaf,  4  to  1  against  Signet-ring,  4  to  1 
against  Dewberry,  10  to  1  against  Vanguard,  the  winner 
at  50  to  1  offered.  Your  husband  must  have  won  a  little 
fortune.     Never  was  there  such  a  day  for  the  bookies." 

Esther  said  she  was  very  glad,  and  was  undecided  which 


ESTHER  WATERS  297 

mug  she  should  choose.  At  last  she  saw  one  on  which 
"Jack"  was  written  in  gold  letters.  .  .  .  They  visited 
the  peep-shows^  and  especially  liked  St.  James's  Park  with 
Horse  Guards  out  on  parade ;  the  Spanish  bull-fight 
did  not  stir  them^  and  Sarah  couldn't  find  a  single  young 
man  to  her  taste  in  the  House  of  Commons.  Among  the 
performing  birds  they  liked  best  a  canary  that  climbed 
a  ladder.  Bill  was  attracted  by  the  American  strength- 
testerSj  and  he  gave  an  exhibition  of  his  muscle,  to  Sarah's 
very  great  admiration.  They  all  had  some  shies  at  cocoa- 
nutSj  and  passed  by  J.  Hilton's  great  bowling  saloon  with- 
out visiting  it.  Once  more  the  air  was  filled  with  the 
cries  of  ''  Here  they  come  !  Here  they  come  !"  Even  the 
'commodation  men  left  their  canvas  shelters  and  pressed 
forward  inquiring  which  had  won.  A  moment  after  a 
score  of  pigeons  floated  and  flew  through  the  blue  air  and 
then  departed  in  different  directions,  some  making  straight 
for  London,  others  for  the  blue  mysterious  evening  that 
had  risen  about  the  Downs — the  sun-baked  Downs  strewn 
with  waste  paper  and  covered  by  tipsy  men  and  women^ 
a  screaming  and  disordered  animality. 

"Well,  so  you've  come  back  at  last,"  said  William. 
"  The  favourite  was  beaten.  I  suppose  you  know  that  a 
rank  outsider  won.     But  what  about  this  gentleman  ?" 

"  Met  these  'ere  ladies  on  the  'ill  an'  been  showing 
them  over  the  course.     No  offence,  I  hope,  guv'nor  ?" 

William  did  not  answer,  and  Bill  took  leave  of  Sarah 
in  a  manner  that  told  Esther  that  they  had  arranged  to 
meet  again. 

"  Where  did  you  pick  up  that  bloke  ?" 

"He  came  up  and  spoke  to  us,  and  Esther  stopped  to 
speak  to  the  parson." 

"To  the  parson.     What  do  you  mean  ?" 

The  circumstance  was  explained,  and  William  asked 
them  what  they  thought  of  the  racing. 


298  ESTHER  WATERS 

"  We  didn't  see  no  racing/'  said  Sarah  ;  "  we  was  on  the 
'ill  on  the  wooden  'orses.  Esther's  'orse  won.  She  got 
a  mug  ;  show  the  mug,  Esther." 

"  So  you  saw  no  Derby  after  all  ?"  said  William. 

"Saw  no  racin'  !"  said  his  neighbour;  "ain't  she  won 
the  cup  ?" 

The  joke  was  lost  on  the  women,  who  only  perceived 
that  they  were  being  laughed  at. 

"Come  up  here,  Esther/'  said  William;  ^' stand  on  my  box. 
The  'orses  are  just  going  up  the  course  for  the  preliminary 
canter.  And  you,  Sarah,  take  Teddy's  place.  Teddy, 
get  down  and  let  the  lady  up." 

"  Yes,  guv'nor.     Come  up  'ere,  ma'am." 

"And  is  those  the  'orses?"  said  Sarah.  "They  do 
seem  small." 

The  ringmen  roared.  "Not  up  to  those  on  the  'ill, 
ma'am/'  said  one.    "  Not  such  beautiful  goers,"  said  another. 

There  were  two  or  three  false  starts,  and  then,  looking 
through  a  multitude  of  hats,  Esther  saAv  five  or  six  thin 
greyhound-looking  horses.  They  passed  like  shadows, 
flitted  by  ;  and  she  was  sorry  for  the  poor  chestnut  that 
trotted  in  among  the  crowd. 

This  was  the  last  race.  Once  more  the  favourite  had 
been  beaten ;  there  were  no  bets  to  pay,  and  the  book- 
makers began  to  prepare  for  departure,  leaving  their 
clerks  to  look  after  the  luggage.  Teddy  didn't  seem 
as  if  he  would  ever  reach  the  top  of  the  hill.  With 
Esther  and  Sarah  on  either  arm,  William  struggled  with 
the  crowd.  It  was  hard  to  get  through  the  block  of 
carriages.  Everywhere  horses  waited  with  their  harness 
on,  and  Sarah  was  afraid  of  being  bitten  or  kicked.  A 
young  aristocrat  cursed  them  from  the  box-seat,  and  the 
groom  blew  a  blast  as  the  drag  rolled  away.  It  was  like 
the  instinct  of  departure  which  takes  a  vast  herd  at  a 
certain  moment.     The  great  landscape,  half  country,  half 


ESTHER  WATERS  299 

suburb,  glinted  beneath  the  rays  of  a  setting  sun;  and 
through  the  white  dust,  and  the  drought  of  the  warm 
roads,  the  brakes  and  carriages  and  every  crazy  vehicle 
rolled  towards  London;  orange  sellers,  tract  sellers, 
thieves,  vagrants,  gipsies,  made  for  their  various  quarters 
—roadside  inns,  outhouses,  hayricks,  hedges,  or  the  rail- 
way station.  Down  the  long  hill  the  vast  crowd  made 
its  way,  humble  pedestrians  and  carriage  folk,  all  together, 
as  far  as  the  cross-roads.  At  the  "  Spread  Eagle  "  there 
would  be  stoppage  for  a  parting  drink,  there  the  book- 
makers would  change  their  clothes,  and  there  division 
would  happen  in  the  crowd — half  for  the  railway  station, 
half  for  the  London  road.  It  was  there  that  the  tradi- 
tional sports  of  the  road  began.  A  drag,  with  a  band  of 
exquisites  armed  with  pea-shooters,  peppering  on  costers 
who  were  getting  angry,  and  threatening  to  drive  over  the 
leaders.  A  brake  with  two  poles  erected,  and  hanging 
on  a  string  quite  a  line  of  miniature  chamber-pots.  A 
horse,  with  his  fore-legs  clothed  in  a  pair  of  lady's  drawers. 
The  horse  stepping  along  so  absurdly  that  Esther  and 
Sarah  thought  they'd  choke  with  laughter. 

At  the  station  William  halloaed  to  old  John,  whom  he 
caught  sight  of  on  the  platform.  He  had  backed  the 
winner — forty  to  one  about  Sultan.  It  was  Ketley  who 
had  persuaded  him  to  risk  half  a  sovereign  on  the  horse. 
Ketley  was  at  the  Derby  ;  he  had  met  him  on  the  course, 
and  Ketley  had  told  him  a  wonderful  story  about  a  packet 
of  Turkish  Dehght.  The  omen  had  come  right  this  time, 
and  Journeyman  took  a  back  seat. 

"  Say  what  you  like,"  said  William,  "  it  is  damned 
strange  ;  and  if  anyone  did  find  the  way  of  reading  them 
omens  there  would  be  an  end  of  us  bookmakers."  He  was 
only  half  in  earnest,  but  he  regretted  he  had  not  met  Ketley. 
If  he  had  only  had  a  fiver  on  the  horse— 200  to  5  ! 

At  Waterloo  they  met  Ketley,  and  every  one  wanted  to 


300  ESTHER  WATERS 

hear  from  his  own  Ups  the  story  of  the  packet  of  Turkish 
Dehght.  So  WilHam  proposed  they  should  all  come  up 
to  the  "  King's  Head  "  for  a  drink.  The  omnibus  took 
them  as  far  as  Piccadilly  Circus  ;  and  there  the  weight  of 
his  satchel  tempted  William  to  invite  them  to  dinner, 
regardless  of  expense. 

^^  Which  is  the  best  dinner  here?"  he  asked  the 
commissionaire. 

"The  East  Room  is  reckoned  the  best,  sir." 

The  fashion  of  the  shaded  candles  and  the  little  tables, 
and  the  beauty  of  an  open  evening  bodice  and  the  black 
and  white  elegance  of  the  young  men  at  dinner,  took  the 
servants  by  surprise,  and  made  them  feel  that  they  were 
out  of  place  in  such  surroundings.  Old  John  looked  like 
picking  up  a  napkin  and  asking  at  the  nearest  table  if 
anything  was  wanted.  Ketley  proposed  the  grill  room, 
but  William,  who  had  had  a  glass  more  than  Avas  good  for 
him,  declared  that  he  didn't  care  a  damn — that  he  could 
buy  up  the  whole  blooming  show.  The  head-waiter 
suggested  a  private  room  ;  it  was  abruptly  declined,  and 
W-illiam  took  up  the  bill  of  fare.  "  Bisque  Soup,  what's 
that  ?     You  ought  to  know,  John."     John  shook  his  head. 

"  Ris  de  veau  !     That  reminds  me  of  when "      William 

stopped  and  looked  round  to  see  if  his  former  wife  was  in 
the  room.  Finally,  the  head-waiter  was  cautioned  to  send 
them  up  the  best  dinner  in  the  place,  and  allusion  being 
made  to  the  dust  and  heat,  they  inquired  their  way  to 
the  lavatories  for  a  sluice.  Esther  and  Sarah  were  away 
longer  than  the  men,  and  stood  dismayed  at  the  top  of  the 
room  till  William  called  to  them  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 
whereupon  the  other  guests  seemed  a  little  terrified,  and 
the  head-waiter,  to  reassure  them,  mentioned  that  it  was 
Derby  Day. 

William  had  ordered  champagne,  but  it  had  not  jH-oved 
to  any   one's  taste   except,  perhaps,  to   Sarah,   whom    it 


ESTHER  WATERS  301 

rendered  unduly  hilarious  ;  nor  did  the  delicate  food  afford 
much  Siitisfaction ;  the  servants  played  with  it,  and  left  it 
on  their  plates  ;  and  it  was  not  until  William  ordered  up 
the  saddle  of  mutton  and  carved  it  himself  that  the  dinner 
began  to  take  hold  of  the  company.  Esther  and  Sarah 
enjoyed  the  ices,  and  the  men  stuck  to  the  cheese,  a  fine 
Stilton,  which  was  much  appreciated.  G)ffee  no  one  cared 
for,  and  the  little  glasses  of  brandy  only  served  to  augment 
the  general  tipsiness.  William  hiccupped  out  an  order  for 
a  bottle  of  Jameson  eight-year-old  ;  but  pipes  were  not 
allowed,  and  cigars  were  voted  tedious,  so  they  adjourned 
to  the  bar,  where  they  were  free  to  get  as  drunk  as  they 
pleased.  William  said,  "  Now  let's  'ear  the  bio — the 
bloody  omen  that  put  ye  on  to  Sultan — that  blood — packet 
of  Turkish  Delight." 

"  Most  extra — most  extraordinary  thing  I  ever  heard  in 
my  life.  So  yer  'ere .''"  said  Ketley,  staring  at  William  and 
trying  to  see  him  distinctly. 

William  nodded.  "  How  was  it  ?  We  want  to  'ear  all 
alx)ut  it.  Do  hold  yer  tongue,  Sarah.  I  beg  pardon, 
Ketley  is  go — going  to  tell  us  about  the  bloody  omen. 
Thought  you'd  like  to  he — ar,  old  girl." 

Something  was  said  about  a  little  girl  coming  home  from 
school,  and  a  piece  of  paper  on  the  pavement,  but  Ketley 
could  not  concentrate  his  thoughts  on  the  main  lines  of 
the  story,  and  it  was  lost  in  various  dissertations.  But  the 
company  was  none  the  less  pleased  with  it,  and  willingly 
declared  that  bookmaking  was  only  a  game  for  mugs.  Get 
on  a  winner  at  forty  to  one,  and  you  could  make  as  much 
in  one  bet  as  a  poor  devil  of  a  bookie  could  in  six  months, 
fagging  from  racecourse  to  racecourse.  And  over  the 
long  bar  they  drank,  argued,  and  quarrelled,  until  Esther 
noticed  that  Sarah  was  looking  very  pale.  Old  John  was 
quite  helpless ;  Journeyman,  who  seemed  to  know  what 
he  was  doing,  very  kindly  promised  to  look  after  him. 


302  ESTHER  WATERS 

Ketley  hung  on  to  the  commissionaire,  intent  on  persuad- 
ing him  that  he  was  not  drunk.  "  You  shee,  commission- 
aire, thish  ish  how  it  ish  :  when  I  look  drunk  I  am  shober, 
and  when  I  look  shober  I  am  very  drunk.  Sho  you 
mushn't  judge  by  appearanshes,  commissionaire."  Sarah 
felt  obliged  to  step  aside  ;  and  hearing  her  saying  that 
she  felt  a  little  better  when  she  returned,  they  stood 
on  the  pavement's  edge,  a  little  puzzled  by  the  brilli- 
ancy of  the  moonlight.  Now  the  three  men  who  followed 
out  of  the  bar-room  were  agreed  regarding  the  worth- 
lessness  of  life.  ^^All  I  live  for  is  beer  and  women." 
The  phrase  caught  on  William's  ear,  and  he  said,  "  Quite 
right,  old  mate,"  and  held  out  his  hand  to  Bill  Evans. 
"  Beer  and  women,  it  always  comes  round  to  that  in  the 
end,  but  we  mustnTTeFthemJiear  us  say  it."  Bill  promised 
to  see  Saraii  safely^Eome.  Esther  tried  to  interpose,  but 
W^illiam  could  not  be  made  to  understand,  and  Sarah  and 
Bill  drove  away  together  in  a  hansom,  Sarah  dozing  off 
on  his  shoulder,  and  it  was  difficult  to  awaken  her  when 
the  cab  stopped  before  a  house  whose  respectability  took 
Bill  by  surprise. 

XXXIV. 

"  Is  that  you,  Sarah  ?" 

"Yes,  it  is  me." 

"  Then  come  in.  How  is  it  that  we've  not  seen  you  all 
this  time  ?     What's  the  matter  ?" 

"  I've  been  out  all  night.  Bill  put  me  out  of  doors  this 
morning,  and  I've  been  walking  about  ever  since." 

"Bill  put  you  out  of  doors?     I  don't  understand." 

"  You  know  Bill  Evans,  the  man  we  met  on  the  race- 
course, the  day  we  went  to  the  Derby.  It  began  there. 
He  took  me  home  after  your  dinner  at  the  '  Criterion,' 
and  it  has  been  going  on  ever  since." 


ESTHER  WATERS  303 

''  Good  Lord  !     Tell  me  about  it." 

And  leaning  against  the  partition  that  separated  the 
bars,  Sarah  told  how  she  had  left  her  home  and  gone  to 
live  with  him. 

"  We  got  on  pretty  well  at  first,  but  the  police  was  after 
him,  aiid  we  made  off  to  Belgium.  There  we  was  very- 
hard  up,  and  I  had  to  go  out  on  the  streets." 

''He  made  you  do  that ?" 

"  He  couldn't  starve,  could  he  ?" 

The  women  looked  at  each  other,  and  then  Sarah 
continued  her  story,  telling  how  they  had  come  to 
London,  penniless.  "  I  think  he  wants  to  turn  honest," 
she  said,  "  but  luck's  been  dead  against  him.  He's  been 
in  work,  but  he  can't  stick  to  it ;  and  now  I  don't  know 
what  he's  doing — no  good,  I  fancy.  Last  night  I  got 
anxious  and  couldn't  sleep,  so  I  sat  up.  It  was  about 
two  when  he  came  in.  We  had  a  row  and  he  dragged 
me  downstairs  and  he  put  me  out.  He  said  he  never 
wanted  to  see  my  ugly  face  again.  I  don't  think  I'm  as 
bad  as  that ;  I've  led  a  hard  life,  and  am  not  what  I  used 
to  be,  but  it  was  he  who  made  me  what  I  am.  Oh,  it 
don't  matter  now,  it  can't  be  helped,  it  is  all  over  with 
me.  I  don't  care  what  becomes  of  me,  only  I  thought  Td 
like  to  come  and  tell  you.     We  was  always  friends." 

"  You  mustn't  give  way  like  that,  old  girl.  You  must 
keep  yer  pecker  up.  You're  dead  beat.  You've  been 
walking  about  all  night,  no  wonder.  You  must  come  and 
have  some  breakfast  with  us." 

"  I  should  hke  a  cup  of  tea,  Esther.  I  never  touches 
spirits  now.     I  got  over  that." 

"  Come  into  the  parlour.  You'll  be  better  when  you've 
had  breakfast.     We'll  see  what  we  can  do  for  you." 

"  Oh,  Esther,  not  a  word  of  what  I've  been  telling  you 
to  your  husband.  I  don't  want  to  get  Bill  into  trouble. 
He'd  kill  me.     Promise  me  not  to  say  a  word  of  it.     I 


304  ESTHER  WATERS 

oughtn't  to  have  told  you.  I  was  so  tired  that  I  didn't 
know  what  I  was  saying." 

Esther  called  to  her  servant  to  bring  up  the  breakfast. 
^^  You  seem  to  live  pretty  well/'  said  Sarah.  Fried  fish^  a 
nice  piece  of  steak,  tea  and  coffee.  "  It  must  be  nice  to 
have  a  servant  of  one's  own.  I  suppose  you're  doing 
pretty  well  here." 

"Yes,  pretty  well,  if  it  wasn't  for  William's  health." 

"  What's  the  matter  ?     Ain't  he  well  ?" 

"  He's  been  very  poorly  lately.  It's  very  trying  work 
going  about  from  racecourse  to  racecourse,  standing  in 
the  mud  and  wet  all  day  long.  He  caught  a  bad  cold 
last  winter  and  was  laid  up  with  inflammation  of  the  lungs  ; 
and  I  don't  think  he  ever  quite  got  over  it." 

"  Don't  he  go  no  more  to  race  meetings  ?" 

"  He  hasn't  been  to  a  race  meeting  since  the  beginning 
of  the  winter.  It  was  one  of  them  nasty  steeple-chase 
meetings  that  laid  him  up." 

"  Do  'e  drink  ?" 

"  He's  never  drunk,  but  he  takes  too  much.  Spirits 
don't  suit  him.  He  thought  he  could  do  what  he  liked, 
great  strong-built  fellow  that  he  is,  but  he's  found  out  his 
mistake." 

"  His  betting  is  all  done  in  London  now,  I  suppose  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Esther,  hesitating — "when  he  has  any 
to  do.  I  want  him  to  give  it  up  ;  but  trade  is  bad  in  this 
neighbourhood,  leastways,  with  us,  and  he  don't  think  we 
could  do  without  it." 

"  It's  very  hard  to  keep  it  dark ;  some  one's  sure  to 
crab  it  and  bring  the  police  down  on  you." 

Esther  asked  Sarah  if  she'd  have  some  more  coffee. 
"  Holloa  !  is  that  you,  Sarah  ?"  It  was  William.  "  We 
didn't  know  what  had  become  of  you  all  this  time." 
William  noticed  that  she  looked  like  one  in  trouble,  and 
poorly  dressed;  and  she   that  his  cheeks  were  thinner. 


ESTHER  WATERS  305 

The  M^omen  told  him  the  stoiy,  interrupting  each  other 
and  arguing  over  certain  bets.  But  the  story  was  riddled 
out  somehow  in  the  end, 

''  I  knew  he  was  a  bad  lot/'  William  said.  "  I  never 
liked  to  see  him  inside  my  bar." 

"  I  thought,"  said  Esther,  "that  Sarah  might  remain 
here  for  a  time."  ' 

"  I  can't  have  that  fellow  coming  round  my  place." 

"  There's  no  fear  of  his  coming  after  me.  He  don't 
want  to  see  my  ugly  tace  again.  Well,  let  him  try  to  find 
some  one  who  will  do  for  him  all  I  have  done." 

^^The  best  for  you  will  be  to  stop  here  till  you  get  a 
situation." 

"  And  what  about  a  character  ?" 

"  You  needn't  say  much  about  what  you've  been 
doing  this  last  three  months  ;  and  if  questions  are 
asked,  you  can  say  you've  been  stopping  with  us.  But 
you  mustn't  see  that  brute  again.  If  he  ever  comes 
into  this  'ere  bar,  I'll  give  him  a  piece  of  my  mind." 

"  I'd  give  him  more  than  a  piece  of  my  mind  if  I  was 
the  man  I  was  a  twelvemonth  ago,"  William  said,  and 
Esther  looked  at  him  anxiously. 

Sarah  threw  her  eyes  over  the  parlour. 

"  You  seem  pretty  comfortable  here,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  some  must  be  down  for  others  to  be  up."  ^ 

And  approving  this  philosophy,  or  accepting  it  tacitly,"^ 
they  told  her  that  what  the  "  King's  Head "  lacked 
was  a  parlour  on  the  ground-floor  for  the  use  of  special 
customers ;  so  William  had  arranged  a  room  upstairs,  where 
there  were  tables  in  front  of  the  windows  and  chairs 
against  the  w^alls,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  room  a  bagatelle 
board.  Would  she  like  to  come  up?  And  Sarah,  while 
admiring  the  pictures  of  celebrated  racehorses  that 
W^illiam  had  hung  up,  heard  from  Esther,  principally,  that 
when  W^illiam  foreswore  racecourses  he  had  intended  to 

X 


306  ESTHER  WATERS 

refuse  money  across  the  bar  and  to  do  all  his  betting 
business  in  this  room.     But  as  his  customers  multiplied 
he   found  that  he   could    not    ask  them    all   upstairs ;    it 
attracted  more  attention  than  to  take  the  money  quietly 
across    the    bar.      All   the  same,  the  room  upstairs  had 
proved  a  success.     A  man  spent  more  money  if  he  had  a 
room  where  he  could  sit  quietly  among  his  friends  than 
he  would  seated  on  a  high  stool  in  a  public  bar,  jostled 
and  pushed  about ;  so  it  had  come  to  be  considered  a  sort 
of  club  room ;    and  a  large  part  of  the    neighbourhood 
trooped  up  there  to  read  the  j^apers,  to  hear  and  discuss 
the    news.      And    specially   needful    it    had    proved    to 
Journeyman    and    Stack,    who    were     now    professional 
backers,  wandering  from   da^^light  to  dark   from  public- 
house  to  public-house,  from  tobacconist  to  barber's  shop, 
in  the  search  of  tips,  on  the  quest  of  stable  information 
regarding  the  health  of  the  horses  and  their  trials,  the 
room  at  the  "  King's  Head  "  always  the  centre  of  their 
operations.     Stack   was  the  inspired  tipster.  Journeyman 
the    scientific    student  of  public  form,  whose   prodigious 
memory  enabled  him  to  note  an  advantage  in  the  weights 
which  would  escaj^e  a  casual  reader  ;  he  often  picked  out 
horses  which,  if  they  did  not  actually  win,  nearly  always 
stood  at  a  short  price  in  the  betting  before  the  race. 

The  '^  King's  Head  "  was  crowded  during  the  dinner- 
hour.  Barbers  and  tiieir  assistants,  cabmen,  scene-shifters, 
if  there  was  an  afternoon  performance  at  the  theatre, 
servants  out  of  situation  and  servants  escaped  from  their 
service  for  an  hour,  petty  shopkeepers,  the  many  who  grow 
weary  of  the  scant  livelihood  that  work  brings  them,  came 
there.  Eleven  o'clock  !  In  another  hour  the  bar  and  the 
room  upstairs  would  be  crowded.  At  present  the  room 
was  empty,  and  Journeyman  had  taken  advantage  of  the 
quiet  time  to  do  a  bit  of  work  at  his  handicap.  All  the 
racing  of  the  last  three  years  lay  within  his  mind'b  ran^e  ; 


ESTHER  WATERS  307 

he  recalled  at  will  every  trifling  selling  race  ;  hardly  ever 
was  he  obliged  to  refer  to  the  Racing  Calendar.  Chimney 
Sweep  had  beaten  Brick  at  ten  pounds.  Snow  Queen  had 
beaten  Shoemaker  at  four  poundF^  and  Shoemaker  had 
beaten  Wanderer  at  seven  pounds.  The  problem  was 
further  complicated  by  the  suspicion  that  Brick  was  better 
than  Snow  Queen  over  a  distance  of  ground.  Journeyman 
was  undecided.  He  stroked  his  short  brown  moustache 
with  his  thin^  hairy  hand,  and  gnawed  the  end  of  his  pen. 
In  this  moment  of  barren  reflection  Stack  came  into  the 
room. 

"  Still  at  yer  'andicap,  I  see,"  said  Stack.  "  How  does 
it  work  out.'*" 

''  Pretty  well,"  said  Journeyman.  "  But  I  don't  think 
it  will  be  one  of  my  best ;  there  is  some  pretty  hard  nuts 
to  crack." 

"  Which  are  they  ?"  said  Stack.  Journeyman  brightened 
up,  and  he  proceeded  to  lay  before  Stack's  intelligence 
what  he  termed  a  "knotty  point  in  collateral  running." 

Stack  listened  with  attention,  and  thus  encouraged, 
Journeyman  proceeded  to  point  out  certain  distributions 
of  weight  which  he  said  seemed  to  him  difficult  to  beat. 

"  Anyone  what  knows  the  running  would  say  there 
wasn't  a  pin  to  choose  between  them  at  the  weights.  If 
this  was  the  real  'andicap,  I'd  bet  drinks  all  round  that 
fifteen  of  these  twenty  would  accept.  And  that's  more 
than  anyone  will  be  able  to  say  for  Courtney's  'andicap. 
The  weights  will  be  out  to-morrow ;  we  shall  see  what  we 
shall  see." 

"Now,  give  it  a  name;  'alf  a  pint,"  said  Stack,  "and 
we'll  go  steadily  through  your  'andicap  ?  You've  nothing 
to  do  for  the  next  'alf-hour,"  and  when  the  potboy 
appeared  in  answer  to  the  bell  he  was  told  to  bring  up 
two  half-pints.  Journeyman  read  out  the  weights,  every 
now  and  then  stopping  to  explain  his   reasons  for  wliat 


308  ESTHER  WATERS 

might  seem  to  be  superficial,  an  umnerited  severity,  or  an 
undue  leniency.  It  was  not  usual  for  Journeyman  to  meet 
with  so  sympathetic  a  listener  ;  he  had  often  been  made  to 
feel  that  his  handicapping  was  unnecessary,  and  he  now 
noticed,  and  with  much  pleasure,  that  Stack's  attention 
seemed  to  increase  rather  than  to  diminish  as  he  approached 
the  end.  When  he  had  finished  Stack  said,  "  I  see  you've 
given  six-seven  to  Ben  Jonson.    Tell  me  why  you  did  that  ?" 

"  He  was  a  good  'orse  once  ;  he's  broken  dowii  and 
aged  ;  he  can't  be  trained,  so  six-seven  seems  just  the  kind 
of  weight  to  throw  him  in  at.  You  couldn't  give  him  less, 
however  old  and  broken  down  he  may  be.  He  was  a  good 
horse  when  he  won  the  Great  Ebor  Grand  Cup." 

''  Do  you  think  if  they  brought  him  to  the  post  as  fit  and 
well  as  he  was  the  day  he  won  the  Ebor  that  he'd  win .?" 

"  What,  fit  and  well  as  he  was  when  he  won  the  Great 
Ebor,  and  with  six-seven  on  his  back?  He'd  walk  away 
with  it." 

"  You  don't  think  any  of  the  three-year-olds  would  have 
a  chance  with  him  ?  A  Derby  winner  with  seven  stone  on 
his  back  might  beat  him." 

''  Yes,  but  nothing  short  of  that.  Even  then  old  Ben 
would  make  a  race  of  it.  A  nailing  good  horse  once.  A 
little  brown  horse  about  fifteen  two,  as  compact  as  a 
leg  of  W^elsh  mutton.  But  there's  no  use  in  thinking  of 
him.  They've  been  trying  for  years  to  train  him.  Didn't 
they  used  to  get  the  flesh  off  him  in  a  Turkish  bath.^ 
That  was  Fulton's  notion.  He  used  to  say  that  it  didn't 
matter  'ow  you  got  the  flesh  off  so  long  as  you  got  it  off. 
Every  pound  of  flesh  off  the  lungs  is  so  much  wind,  he 
used  to  say.  But  the  Turkish-bath  trained  horses  came  to 
the  post  limp  as  old  rags.  If  a  'orse  'asn't  the  legs  you 
can't  train  him.  Every  pound  of  flesh  yer  take  off  nmst 
put  a  pound  'o  'ealth  on.  They'll  do  no  good  with  old 
Ben,  unless  they've  found  out  a  way  of  growing  on  him  a 


ESTHER  WATERS  309 

pair   of  new   forelegs.     The    old  ones  won't   do  for  my 
money." 

"  But  do  you  think  that  Courtney  will  take  the  same 
view  of  his  chances  as  you  do — do  you  think  he'll  let  him 
off  as  easily  as  you  have  ?" 

"^  He  can't  give  him  much  more.  The  'orse  is  bound 
to  get  in  at  seven  stone,  rather  under  than  over." 

"  I'm  glad  to  'ear  yer  say  so^  for  I  know  you've  a  head- 
piece, and  'as  all  the  running  in  there."  Stack  tapped  his 
forehead.  "  Now,  I'd  like  to  ask  you  if  there's  any  three- 
year-olds  that  would  be  likely  to  interfere  with  him }" 

''  Derby  and  Leger  winners  will  get  from  eight  stone  to 
eight  stone  ten,  and  three-year-olds  ain't  no  good  over 
the  Cesarewitch  course  with  more  than  eight  on  their 
backs." 

Surprised  at  Stack's  silence,  Journeyman  said  : 

"  Is  there  anything  up  ?  Have  you  heard  anything 
particular  about  old  Ben  ?" 

Stack  bent  forward.  ''  Yes,  I've  heard  something,  and 
I'm  making  inquiries." 

"  How  did  you  hear  it.'^" 

Stack  drew  his  chair  a  little  closer.  "  I've  been  up  at 
Chalk  Farm,  the  '  Yarborough  Arms '  ;  you  know,  where 
the  'buses  stop.  Bob  Barrett  does  a  deal  of  business  up 
there.  He  pays  the  landlord's  rent  for  the  use  of  the  bar 
— Wednesdays,  Fridays,  and  Saturdays  is  his  days. 
Charley  Grove  bets  there  on  Mondays,  Tuesdays,  and 
Thursdays,  but  it  is  Bob  that  does  the  biggest  part  of  the 
business.  They  say  he's  taken  as  much  as  twenty  pounds 
in  a  morning.  You  know  Bob,  a  great  big  man,  eighteen 
stun  if  he's  an  ounce.  He's  a  warm  'un,  can  put  it  on 
thick." 

"  I  know  him ;  he  do  tell  fine  stories  about  the  girls ; 
he  'as  the  pick  of  the  neighbourhood,  wears  a  low  hat,  no 
higher  than  that,   with  a  big  brim,     I  know  him.     I've 


310  ESTHER  WATERS 

heard  that  he  'as  moved  up  that  way.      Used  at  one  time 
to  keep  a  tobacconist's  shop  in  Great  Portland  Street." 

"  That's  'im/'  said  Stack.  "  I  thought  you'd  heard  of 
'im." 

"  There  ain't  many  about  that  I've  not  heard  ot.  Not 
that  I  likes  the  man  much.  There  was  a  girl  I  knew — 
she  wouldn't  hear  his  name  mentioned.  But  he  lays  fair 
prices,  and  I  believe  he  does  a  big  trade." 

^'  'As  a  nice  'ome  at  Brixton,  keeps  a  trap ;  his  wife  as 
pretty  a  woman  as  you  could  wish  to  lay  eyes  on.  I've 
seen  her  with  him  at  Kempton." 

"  You  was  up  there  this  morning  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  It  wasn't  Bob  Barrett  that  gave  you  the  tip?" 

"  Not  likely."  The  men  laughed,  and  then  Stack 
said  : 

"  You  know  Bill  Evans  ?  You've  seen  him  here, 
always  wore  a  blue  Melton  jacket  and  billycock  hat ;  a 
dark,  stout,  good-looking  fellow  ;  generally  had  something 
to  sell,  or  pawn-tickets  that  he  would  part  with  for  a 
trifle." 

"  Yes,  I  know  the  fellow.  We  met  him  down  at 
Epsom  one  Derby  Day.  Sarah  Tucker,  a  friend  of  the 
missis,  was  dead  gone  on  him." 

"  Yes,  she  went  to  live  with  him.  There  was  a  row, 
and  now,  I  believe,  they're  together  again  ;  they  was  seen 
out  walking.  They're  friends,  anyhow.  Bill  has  been 
away  all  the  summer,  tramping.  A  bad  lot,  but  one  of 
them  sort  often  hears  of  a  good  thing." 

"  So  it  was  from  Bill  Evans  that  you  heard  it." 

"  Yes,  it  was  from  Bill.  He  has  just  come  up  from 
Eastbourne,  where  he  'as  been  about  on  the  Downs  a  great 
deal.  I  don't  know  if  it  was  the  'orses  he  was  after,  but 
in  the  course  of  his  proceedings  he  'card  from  a  shepherd 
that  Ben  Jonson  was  doing  seven  hours'  walking  exercise 


ESTHER  WATERS  Sll 

a  day.  This  seemed  to  have  fetched  Bill  a  bit.  Seven 
hours  a  day  walking  exercise  did  seem  a  bit  odd^  and  being 
at  the  same  time  after  one  of  the  servants  in  the  training 
stable — as  pretty  a  bit  of  goods  as  he  had  ever  set  eyes  on, 
so  Bill  says — he  thought  he'd  make  an  inquiry  or  two 
about  all  this  walking  exercise.  One  of  the  lads  in  the 
stable  is  after  the  girl,  too,  so  Bill  found  out  very  soon 
all  he  wanted  to  know.  As  you  says,  the  'orse  is  dicky 
on  'is  forelegs,  that  is  the  reason  of  all  the  walking 
exercise." 

"  And  they  thinks  they  can  bring  him  fit  to  the  post 
and  win  the  Cesarewitch  with  him  by  walking  him  all 
day?" 

"  I  don't  say  they  don't  gallop  him  at  all ;  they  do 
gallop  him,  but  not  as  much  as  if  his  legs  was  all  right." 

"  That  won't  do.  I  don't  believe  in  a  'orse  winning 
the  Cesarewitch  that  ain't  got  four  sound  legs,  and  old 
Ben  ain't  got  more  than  two." 

"  He's  had  a  long  rest,  and  they  say  he  is  sounder  than 
ever  he  was  since  he  won  the  Great  Ebor.  They  don't  say 
he'd  stand  no  galloping,  but  they  don't  want  to  gallop 
him  more  than's  absolutely  necessary  on  account  of  the 
suspensory  ligament;  it  ain't  the  back  sinew,  but  the 
suspensory  ligament.  Their  theory  is  this,  that  it  don't 
so  much  matter  about  bringing  him  quite  fit  to  the  post, 
for  he's  sure  to  stay  the  course ;  he'd  do  that  three  times 
over.  What  they  say  is  this,  that  if  he  gets  in  with  seven 
stone,  and  we  brings  him  well  and  three  parts  trained, 
there  ain't  no  'orse  in  England  that  can  stand  up  before 
him.  They've  got  another  in  the  race,  Laurel  Leaf,  to 
make  the  running  for  him ;  it  can't  be  too  strong  for  old 
Ben.  You  say  to  yourself  that  he  may  get  let  oft' with  six- 
seven.  If  he  do  there'll  be  tons  of  money  on  him.  He'll 
be  backed  at  the  post  at  five  to  one.  Before  the  weights 
come  out  they'll  lay  a  hundred  to  one  on  the  field  in  any 


312  ESTHER  WATERS 

of  the  big  clubs.     I  wouldn't  mind  putting  a  quid  on  him 
if  you'll  join  me." 

"Better    wait    until     the    weights    come     out/'    said 
Journeyman^  "  for  if  it  happened  to  come  to  Courtney's 
ears  that  old  Ben  could  be  trained  he'd  clap  seven-ten  on 
him  without  a  moment's  hesitation." 
^'  You  think  so  ?"  said  Stack. 
"  I  do/'  said  Journeyman. 

"  But  you  agree  with  me  that  if  he  got  let  off  with  any- 
thing less  than  seven  stone,  and  be  brought  fit,  or  there- 
abouts, to  the  post,  that  the  race  is  a  moral  certainty  for 
him?" 

"  A  thousand  to  a  brass  farthing." 
"  Mind,  not  a  word." 
"Is  it  likely!" 

The  conversation  paused  a  moment,  and  then  Journey- 
man said :  "  You've  not  seen  my  'andicap  for  the 
Cambridgeshire.  I  wonder  what  you'd  think  of  that  .'^" 
Stack  said  he  would  be  glad  to  see  it  another  time,  and 
proposed  that  they  went  downstairs. 

"  I'm  afraid  the  police  is  in,"  said  Stack,  when  he 
opened  the  door. 

"  Then  we'd  better  stop  where  we  are ;  I  don't  want  to 
be  took  to  the  station." 

They  listened  for  some  moments,  holding  the  door  ajar. 
"  It  ain't  the  police,"  said  Stack,  "  but  a  row  about  some 
bet.     Latch  had  better  be  careful." 

The  cause  of  the  scrimmage  was  a  tall  young  English 
workman,  whom  his  comrades  were  striving  to  quieten. 

"  Leave  me  alone,"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  the  bet  was  ten  half- 
crowns  to  one.     I  won't  stand  being  welshed." 

William's  face  flushed  up.     "Welshed  !"  he  said.     "No 
one  speaks  in  this  bar  of  welshing."     And  he  would  have 
sprung  over  the  counter  if  Esther  hadn't  held  him  back. 
"I  know  what  I'm  talking  about;  you  let  me  alone," 


ESTHER  WATERS  313 

said  the  young  workman,  and  he  struggled  out  of  the 
hands  of  his  friends.  "  The  bet  was  ten  half-crowns 
to  one." 

"  Don't  mind  what  he  says,  guv'nor.'* 

"Don't  mind  what  I  says  !"  For  a  moment  it  seemed 
as  if  the  friends  were  about  to  come  to  blows,  but  the  young 
man's  perceptions  suddenly  clouded,  and  he  said  :  "  In  this 
blo-ody  bar  last  Monday.  Horse  backed  in  Tattersall's  at 
twelve  to  one  taken  and  offered." 

"He  don't  know  what  he's  talking  about;  but  no  one 
must  accuse  me  of  welshing  in  this  'ere  bar." 

"No  offence,  guv'nor  ;  mistakes  will  occur." 

William  sent  Teddy  upstairs  for  Monday's  paper,  and 
he  pointed  out  that  eight  to  one  was  being  asked  for  the 
horse  on  Monday  afternoon  at  Tattersall's.  Esther  and 
Charles  had  been  selling  beer  and  spirits  as  fast  as  they 
could  draw  it,  but  the  disputed  bet  caused  the  company 
to  forget  their  glasses. 

"Just  one  more  drink,"  said  the  young  man.  *^Take 
the  ten  half-crowns  out  in  drinks,  guv'nor,  that's  good 
enough.     What  do  you  say,  guv'nor?" 

"What  ten  half-crowns?"  William  answered  angrily. 
"  Haven't  I  shown  you  that  the  'orse  was  backed  at 
Tattersall's  the  day  you  made  the  bet  at  eight  to  one  ?" 

"Ten  to  one,  guv'nor." 

"I've  not  time  to  go  on  talking.  You're  interfering 
with  my  business.     You  must  get  out  of  my  bar." 

"  Who'll  put  me  out  ?" 

"Charles,  go  and  fetch  a  policeman." 

At  the  word  "policeman"  the  young  man  seemed  to 
recover  his  wits  somewhat,  and  he  answered  :  "  You'll 
bring  in  no  bloody  policeman.  Fetch  a  policeman  ! 
and  what  about  your  blooming  betting — what  will  become 
of  that  ?"  William  looked  round  to  see  if  there  was  any 
in  the  bar  whom  he  could  not  trust.      He  knew  every  one 


314  ESTHER  WATERS 

present^  and  believed  he  could  trust  them  all.  There  was 
but  one  thing  to  do^  and  that  was  to  put  on  a  bold 
face  and  trust  to  luck.  "Now  out  you  go/'  he  said, 
springing  over  the  counter,  "  and  never  you  set  your  face 
inside  my  bar  again."  Charles  followed  the  guv 'nor  over 
the  counter  like  lightning,  and  the  drunkard  was  forced 
into  the  street.  "He  don't  mean  no  'arm/'  said  one 
of  the  friends;  "he'll  come  round  to-morrow  and  apolo- 
gise for  what  he's  said." 

"I  don't  want  his  apology/'  said  William.  "No  one 
shall  call  me  a  welsher  in  my  bar.  Take  your  friend 
away,  and  never  let  me  see  him  in  my  bar  again." 

All  of  a  sudden  William  was  seized  with  a  fit  of 
coughing,  and  Esther  led  him  into  the  parlour,  leaving 
Charles  to  attend  to  the  customers;  His  hand  trembled 
like  a  leaf,  and  she  sat  by  his  side  holding  it.  At  that 
moment  Mr.  Blamey  came  in  to  ask  if  he  should  lay  one 
of  the  young  gentlemen  from  the  tutor's  thirty  shillings 
to  ten  against  the  favourite.  Esther  said  that  William 
could  attend  to  no  more  customers  that  day ;  but 
Mr.  Blamey  returned  ten  minutes  after  to  say  that  there 
was  quite  a  number  of  people  in  the  bar ;  should  he 
refuse  to  take  their  money  ? 

"  Do  you  know  them  all  .^"  said  William. 
"I  think  sOj  guv'nor." 

"Be  careful  to  bet  with  no  one  you  don't  know;  but 
I'm  so  bad  I  can  hardly  speak." 

"  Much  better  send  them  away,"  said  Esther. 
"Then  they'll  go  somewhere  else." 

"It  won't  matter;  they'll  come  back  to  where  they're 
sure  of  their  money." 

"I'm  not  so  certain  of  that/'  William  answered,  feebly. 
"I  think  it  will  be  all  right,  Teddy;  you'll  be  very 
careful." 

"Yes,  guv'nor,  I'll  keep  down  the  price." 


ESTHER  WATERS  SI 5 


XXXV. 


One  afternoon  Fred  Parsons  came  into  the  bar  of  the 
"Kind's  Head."  He  wore  the  cap  and  jersey  of  the 
Salvation  Army ;  he  was  now  Captain  Parsons.  The  bars 
were  empty.  It  was  a  time  when  business  was  slackest. 
The  morning's  betting  was  over,  the  crowd  had  dispersed, 
and  would  not  collect  again  until  the  Evening  Standard 
came  in.  Fred  looked  round  and  rapped  with  his  stick, 
but  nobody  answered.  William  had  gone  for  a  walk,  the 
potman  was  at  work  in  the  backyard,  and  Esther  was  sew- 
ing in  the  parlour  ;  but  she  had  just  left  the  room.  And, 
unable  to  make  anybody  hear.  Parsons  began  to  ask  himself 
if  the  house  was  empty  and  anybody  could  come  in  and 
drink  as  much  as  he  pleased  without  paying  for  it. 

"  Oh,  it  is  you,  Fred,"  and  she  stood  looking  at  him, 
surprised  by  his  uniform.     "  So  you  are  in  the  Army  ?" 

"  Yes,  I've  joined  up,"  he  answered  ;  "  but  I  was  always 
in  it  in  spirit  from  the  beginning,  as  I  think  you  know." 
She  wondered  what  he  had  come  about. 
"  Is  your  husband  in  }"  he  asked.     "  If  he  is,  I  should 
like  to  speak  to  him." 

"  No,  my  husband  is  out,  and  I  don't  expect  him  back 
for  an  hour  or  so.     Can  I  give  him  any  message  ?" 

She  was  on  the  point  of  asking  him  how  he  was.  But 
there  was  something  so  harsh  and  formal  in  his  tone  and 
manner  that  she  refrained.  But  the  idea  in  her  mind 
must  have  expressed  itself  in  her  face,  for  suddenly  his 
manner  softened.  He  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  passed 
his  hand  across  his  forehead.  Then,  putting  aside  the 
involuntary  thought,  he  said  : 

"  Perhaps  it  will  come  through  you  as  well  as  any  othei 
way.      I  intended   to   speak   to  him  myself,   but   I   can 


316  ESTHER  WATERS 

explain  the  matter  better  to  you.  It  is  about  the  betting 
that  is  being  carried  on  here.  We  mean  to  put  a  stop  to  it. 
That's  what  I  came  to  tell  him.  It  must  be  put  a  stop  to. 
No  right-minded  person — it  cannot  be  allowed  to  go  on." 

Esther  said  nothing;  not  a  change  of  expression  came 
upon  her  grave  face.  But  Fred  was  agitated.  His  words 
stuck  in  his  throat,  and  his  hands  were  restless.  Esther 
raised  her  calm  eyes,  and  looked  at  him.  His  eyes  were 
pale,  restless  eyes. 

^^  I've  come  to  warn  you/'  he  said,  "  that  the  law  will  be 
set  in  motion.  It  is  very  painful  for  me,  but  something 
must  be  done."  Esther  did  not  answer,  and  he  said, 
f*^  Why  don't  you  answer,  Esther  ?" 

"  What  is  there  for  me  to  answer  ?  You  tell  me  that  you 
are  going  to  get  up  a  prosecution  against  us.  I  can't 
prevent  you.     I'll  tell  my  husband  what  you  say." 

"This  is  a  very  serious  matter,  Esther."  He  had  come 
into  command  of  his  voice,  and  he  spoke  with  earnest 
determination.  "  If  we  get  a  conviction  against  you  for 
keeping  a  betting-house,  you  will  not  only  be  heavily  fined, 
but  you  will  also  lose  your  licence.  All  we  ask  is  that  the 
betting  shall  cease.  No,"  he  said,  interrupting,  "don't 
deny  anything ;  it  is  quite  useless,  we  know  everything. 
The  whole  neighbourhood  is  demoralized  by  this  betting ; 
nothing  is  thought  of  but  tips  ;  the  day's  racing — that  is 
all  they  think  about — the  evening  papers,  and  the  latest 
information.  You  don't  know  what  harm  you're  doing. 
Every  day  we  hear  of  some  new  misfortune — a  home  broken 
up,  the  mother  in  the  workhouse,  the  daughter  on  the 
streets,  the  father  in  prison,  and  all  on  account  of  this 
betting.  Oh,  Esther,  it  is  horrible ;  think  of  the  harm 
you're  doing." 

Fred  Parsons'  high,  round  forehead,  his  weak  eyes,  his 
whole  face,  was  expressive  of  fear  and  hatred  of  the  evil 
that  a  falsetto  voice  denounced. 


ESTHER  WATERS  317 

Suddenly  he  seemed  to  grow  nervous  and  perplexed 
again.  Esther  was  looking  at  him,  and  he  said  :  "  You  don't 
answer,  Esther?" 

"  What  would  you  have  me  answer  ?" 

"  You  used  to  be  a  good,  religious  woman.  Do  you 
remember  how  we  used  to  speak  when  we  used  to  go  for 
walks  together,  when  you  were  in  service  in  the  Avondale 
Road  ?  I  remember  you  agreeing  with  me  that  much  good 
could  be  done  by  those  who  were  determined  to  do  it. 
You  seem  to  have  changed  very  much  since  those  days." 

For  a  moment  Esther  seemed  affected  by  these  re- 
membrances.    Then  she  said  in  a  low,  musical  voice — 

'^  No,  I  've  not  changed,  Fred,  but  things  has  turned  out 
different.  One  doesn't  do  the  good  that  one  would  like  to 
in  the  world ;  one  has  to  do  the  good  that  comes  to  one  to 
do.  Fve  my  husband  and  my  boy  to  look  to.  Them's  my 
good.     At  least,  that's  how  I  sees  things." 

Fred  looked  at  Esther,  and  his  eyes  expressed  all  the 
admiration  and  love  that  he  felt  for  her  character.  "  One 
owes  a  great  deal,"  he  said,  "  to  those  who  are  near  to  one, 
but  not  everything ;  even  for  their  sakes  one  should  not 
do  wrong  to  others,  and  you  must  see  that  you  are  doing  a 
great  wrong  to  your  fellow-creatures  by  keeping  on  this 
betting.  Public-houses  are  bad  enough,  but  when  it  comes 
to  gambling  as  well  as  drink,  there's  nothing  for  us  to  do 
but  to  put  the  law  in  motion.  Look  you,  Esther,  there 
isn't  a  shop-boy  earning  eighteen  shillings  a  week  that 
hasn't  been  round  here  to  put  his  half-crown  on  some 
horse.  This  house  is  the  immoral  centre  of  the  neighbour- 
hood. No  one's  money  is  refused.  The  boy  that  pawned 
his  father's  watch  to  back  a  horse  went  to  the  '  King's 
Head  '  to  put  his  money  on.  His  father  forgave  liim  again 
and  again.  Then  the  boy  stole  from  the  lodgers.  I'here 
was  an  old  woman  of  seventy -five  who  got  nine  shillings  a 
week  for  looking  after  some  offices  ;  he  had  half-a-crown 


318  ESTHER  WATERS 

off  her.  Then  the  father  told  the  magistrate  that  he  could 
do  nothing  with  him  since  he  had  taken  to  betting  on 
horse-races.  The  boy  is  fourteen.  Is  it  not  shocking  ?  It 
cannot  be  allowed  to  go  on.  We  have  determined  to  put 
a  stop  to  it.     That's  what  I  came  to  tell  your  husband." 

"Are  you  sure,"  said  Esther,  and  she  bit  her  lips  while 
she  spoke,  "  that  it  is  entirely  for  the  neighbourhood  that 
you  want  to  get  up  the  prosecution?" 

"You  don't  think  there's  any  other  reason,  Esther? 
You  surely  don't  think  that  I'm  doing  this  because — 
because  he  took  you  away  from  me?" 

Esther  didn't  answer.  And  then  Fred  said,  and  there 
was  pain  and  pathos  in  his  voice,  "  I  am  sorry  you  think 
this  of  me  ;  I'm  not  getting  up  the  prosecution.  I  couldn't 
prevent  the  law  being  put  in  motion  against  you  even  if  I 
wanted  to.  .  .  .  I  only  know  that  it  is  going  to  be  put 
in  motion,  so  for  the  sake  of  old  times  I  w'ould  save  you 
from  harm  if  I  could.  I  came  round  to  tell  you  if  you  did 
not  put  a  stop  to  the  betting  you'd  get  into  trouble.  I 
have  no  right  to  do  what  I  have  done,  but  I'd  do  anything 
to  save  you  and  yours  from  harm." 

''I  am  sorry  for  what  I  said.     It  was  very  good  of  you." 

"  We  have  not  any  proofs  as  yet ;  we  know,  of  course, 
all  about  the  betting,  but  we  must  have  sworn  testimony 
before  the  law  can  be  set  in  motion,  so  you'll  be  quite 
safe  if  you  can  persuade  your  husband  to  give  it  up." 
Esther  did  not  answer.  "  It  is  entirely  on  account  of  the 
friendship  I  feel  for  you  that  made  me  come  to  warn  you 
of  the  danger.  You  don't  bear  me  any  ill-will,  Esther,  I 
hope  ?" 

"No,  Fred,  I  don't.  I  think  I  understand."  The 
conversation  paused  again.  "I  suppose  we  have  said 
everything."  Esther  turned  her  face  from  him.  Fred 
looked  at  her,  and  though  her  eyes  were  averted  from 
him  she  could  see  that  he  loved  her.      In  another  moment 


ESTHER  WATERS  319 

he  was  gone.  In  her  plain  and  ignorant  way  she  thought  "^L 
on  the  romance  of  destiny.  For  if  she  had  married  Fred  — ^ 
her  hfe  would  have  been  quite  different.  She  would  have 
led  the  life  that  she  wished  to  lead^  but  she  had  married 
William  and — well^  she  must  do  the  best  she  could.  If 
Fredj  or  Fred's  friends,  got  the  police  to  prosecute  them 
for  betting,  they  would,  as  he  said,  not  only  have  to  pay  a 
heavy  fine,  but  would  probably  lose  their  licence.  Then 
what  would  they  do  ?  William  had  not  health  to  go  about 
from  racecourse  to  racecourse  as  he  used  to.  He  had 
lost  a  lot  of  money  in  the  last  six  months ;  Jack  was  at 
school — they  must  think  of  Jack.  The  thought  of  their 
danger  lay  on  her  heart  all  that  evening.  But  she  had 
had  no  opportunity  of  speaking  to  William  alone,  she  had 
to  wait  until  they  were  in  their  room.  Then,  as  she 
untied  the  strings  of  her  petticoats,  she  said  : 

"I  had  a  visit  from  Fred  Parsons  this  afternoon." 
"  That's  the  fellow  you  were  engaged  to  marry.     Is  he 
after  you  still  ?" 

"No,  he  came  to  speak  to  me  about  the  betting." 
"About  the  betting — what  is  it  to  do  with  him?" 
"He  says  that  if  it   isn't   stopped   that  we   shall  be 
prosecuted." 

"  So  he  came  here  to  tell  you  that,  did  he  ?  I  wish  I 
had  been  in  the  bar." 

"I'm  glad  you  wasn't.  What  good  could  you  have 
done .''     To  have  a  row  and  make  things  worse  !"■ 

William  lit  his  pipe  and  unlaced  his  boots.  Esther 
slipped  on  her  night-dress  and  got  into  a  large  brass 
bedstead,  without  curtains.  On  the  chest  of  drawers 
Esther  had  placed  the  books  her  mother  had  given  her, 
and  William  had  hung  some  sporting  prints  on  the  walls. 
He  took  his  night-shirt  from  the  pillow  and  put  it  on 
without  removing  his  pipe  from  his  mouth.  He  always 
finished  his  pipe  in  bed. 


^20  ESTHER  WATERS 

"  It  is  revenge/'  he  said^  pulling  the  bed-clothes  up  to 
his  chin^  "because  I  got  you  away  from  him." 

"  I  don't  think  it  is  that ;  I  did  think  so  at  first,  and  I 
said  so." 

"What  did  he  say.?" 

"  He  said  he  was  sorry  I  thought  so  badly  of  him ;  that 
he  came  to  warn  us  of  our  danger.  If  he  had  wanted  to 
do  us  an  injury  he  wouldn't  have  said  nothing  about  it. 
Don't  you  think  so  .?" 

"  It  seems  reasonable.  Then  what  do  you  think  they're 
doing  it  for  V^ 

"  He  says  that  keeping  a  betting-house  is  corruption  in 
the  neighbourhood." 

"  You  think  he  thinks  that  ?" 

"  I  know  he  do ;  and  there  is  many  like  him.  I  come 
of  them  that  thinks  like  that,  so  I  know.  Betting  and 
drink  is  what  my  folk,  the  Brethren,  holds  as  most  evil." 

"But  you've  forgot  all  about  them  Brethren  ?" 

"No,  one  never  forgets  what  one's  brought  up  in." 

"But  what  do  you  think  now  ?" 

"  I've  never  said  nothing  about  it.  I  don't  believe  in  a 
wife  interfering  with  her  husband ;  and  business  was  that 
bad,  and  your  'ealth  'asn't  been  the  same  since  them  colds 
you  caught  standing  about  in  them  betting  rings,  so  I  don't 
see  how  you  could  help  it.  But  now  that  business  is 
beginning  to  come  back  to  us,  it  might  be  as  well  to  give 
up  the  betting." 

"  It  is  the  betting  that  brings  the  business  ;  we  shouldn't 
take  five  pounds  a  week  was  it  not  for  the  betting.  What's 
the  difference  between  betting  on  the  course  and  betting 
in  the  bar  ?  No  one  says  nothing  against  it  on  the  course  ; 
the  police  is  there,  and  they  goes  after  the  welshers  and 
persecutes  them.  Then  the  betting  that's  done  at  Tatter- 
salFs  and  the  Albert  Club,  what  is  the  difference  ?  The 
Stock  Exchange,  too,  where  thousands  and  thousands  is 


ESTHER  WATERS  321 

betted  every  day.  It  is  the  old  story — one  law  for  the 
rich  and  another  for  the  poor.  Why  shouldn't  the  poor 
man  'ave  his  'alf-crown's  worth  of  excitement  ?  The  rich 
man  can  have  his  thousand  pounds'  worth  whenever  he 
pleases.  The  same  with  the  public  'ouses — there's  a  lot 
of  hypocritical  folk  that  is  for  docking  the  poor  man  of  his 
beer,  but  there's  no  one  that's  for  interfering  with  them 
that  drink  champagne  in  the  clubs.  It's  all  bloody  rot, 
and  it  makes  me  sick  when  I  think  of  it.  Them  hypo- 
critical folk.  Betting !  Isn't  everything  betting  ?  How 
can  they  put  down  betting?  Hasn't  it  been  going  on 
since  the  world  began  ?  Rot,  says  I !  They  can  just  ruin 
a  poor  devil  like  me,  and  that's  about  all.  We  are  ruined, 
and  the  rich  goes  scot-free.  Hypocritical,  mealy-mouthed 
lot.  '  Let's  say  our  prayers  and  sand  the  sugar ' ;  that's 
about  it.  I  hate  them  that  is  always  prating  out  religion. 
When  I  hears  too  much  religion  going  about  I  says  now's 
the  time  to  look  into  their  accounts." 

William  leaned  out  of  bed  to  light  his  pipe  from  the 
candle  on  the  night-table. 

''  Tliere's  good  people  m  the  world,  people  that  never 
thinks  but  of  doing  good,  and  do  not  live  for  pleasure." 

'* '  All  work  and  no  play  makes  Jack  a  dull  boy,'  Esther. 
Their  only  pleasure  is  a  bet.  When  they've  one  on 
they've  something  to  look  forward  to ;  whether  they  win 
or  lose  they  'as  their  money's  worth.  You  know  what 
I  say  is  true  ;  you've  seeil  them,  how  they  look  forward 
to  the  evening  paper  to  see  how  the  'oss  is  going  on  in 
betting.  Man  can't  live  without  hope.  It  is  their  only 
hope,  and  I  says  no  one  has  a  right  to'take  it  from  them." 
"  What  about  their  poor  wives  ?  Very  little  good  their 
betting  is  to  them.  It's  all  very  well  to  talk  like  that, 
William,  but  you  know  that  a  great  deal  of  mischief  comes 
of  betting  ;  you  know  that  once  they  think  of  it  and 
nothing  else,  they  neglect  their  work.     Stack  'as  lost  his 

Y 


322  ESTHER  WATERS 

place  as  porter;  and  there's  Journeyman,  too,  he's  out  of 
work." 

"  And  a  good  thing  for  them ;  they've  done  a  great  deal 
better  since  they  chucked  it." 

''  For  the  time,  maybe ;  but  who  says  it  will  go  on  ? 
Look  at  old  John  ;  he's  going  about  in  rags  ;  and  his  poor 
wife,  she  was  in  here  the  other  night,  a  terrible  life  she's 
'ad  of  it.  You  says  that  no  'arm  comes  o^  it.  What  about 
that  boy  that  was  'ad  up  the  other  day,  and  said  that  it 
was  all  through  betting?  He  began  by  pawning  his 
father's  watch.  It  was  here  that  he  made  the  first  bet. 
You  won't  tell  me  that  it  is  right  to  bet  with  bits  of  boys 
like  that." 

"  The  horse  he  backed  with  me  won." 

"  So  much  the  worse.  The  boy' 11  never  do  another 
honest  day's  work  as  long  as  he  lives.  When  they  win, 
they  'as  a  drink  for  luck  ;  when  they  loses,  they  'as  a 
drink  to  cheer  them  up." 

^^I'm  afraid,  Esther,  you  ought  to  have  married  the 
other  chap.  He'd  have  given  you  the  life  that  you'd  have 
been  happy  in.     This  public- 'ouse  ain't  suited  to  you." 

Esther  turned  round  and  her  eyes  met  her  husband's. 
There  was  a  strange  remoteness  in  his  look,  and  they 
seemed  very  far  from  each  other. 

*'  I  was  brought  up  to  think  so  differently,"  she  said^ 
her  thoughts  going  back  to  her  early  years  in  the  little 
southern  sea-side  home.  ''  I  suppose  this  betting  and 
drinking  will  always  seem  to  me  sinful  and  wicked.  I 
should  'ave  liked  quite  a  different  kind  of  life,  but  we 
don't  choose  our  lives,  we  just  makes  the  best  of  them. 
You  was  the  father  of  my  child,  and  it  all  dates  from 
that." 

^'  I  suppose  it  do." 

William  lay  on  his  back,  and  blew  the  smoke  swiftly 
from  his  mouth. 


ESTHER  WATERS  S2S 

"  If  you  smoke  much  more  we  shan't  be  able  to  breathe 
in  this  room." 

'^  I  won't  smoke  no  more.  Shall  I  blow  the  candle 
out?" 

"  Yes,  if  you  like." 

When  the  room  was  in  darkness,  just  before  they  settled 
their  faces  on  the  pillow  for  sleep,  William  said — 

"  It  was  good  of  that  fellow  to  come  and  warn  us.  I 
must  be  very  careful  for  the  future  with  whom  I  bet." 


XXXVI. 

On  Sunday,  as  soon  as  dinner  was  over,  Esther  had 
intended  to  go  to  East  Dulwich  to  see  Mrs.  Lewis.  But 
as  she  closed  the  door  behind  her,  she  saw  Sarah  coming 
up  the  street. 

''  Ah,  I  see  you're  going  out." 

"  It  don't  matter ;  won't  you  come  in,  if  it's  only  for 
a  minute  ?" 

"  No,  thank  you,  I  won't  keep  you.     But  which  way 
are  you  going  ?     We  might  go  a  little  way  together." 

They  walked  down  Waterloo  Place  and  along  Pall  Mall. 
In  Trafalgar  Square  there  was  a  demonstration,  and  Sarali 
lingered  in  the  crowd  so  long  that  when  they  arrived  at 
Charing  Cross,  Esther  found  that  she  could  not  get  to 
Ludgate  Hill  in  time  to  catch  her  train,  so  they  went  into 
the  Embankment  Gardens.  It  had  been  raining,  and  the 
women  wiped  the  seats  with  their  handkerchiefs  before 
sitting  down.  There  was  no  fashion  to  interest  them, 
and  the  band  sounded  foolish  in  the  void  of  the  grey 
London  Sunday.  Sarah's  chatter  was  equally  irrelevant 
and  Esther  wondered  how  Sarah  could  talk  so  much  about 
nothing,  and  regretted  her  visit  to  1-ast   Dulwich    more 


384  ESTHER  WATERS 

and  more.  Suddenly  Bill's  name  came  into  the  conversa- 
tion. 

"  But  I  thought  you  didn't  see  him  any  more ;  you 
promised  us  you  wouldn't," 

''  I  couldn't  help  it.  It  was  quite  an  accident.  One 
day,  coming  back  from  church  with  Annie — that's  the 
new  housemaid — he  came  up  and  spoke  to  us." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"  He  said,  ^  How  are  ye  ?  Who'd  thought  of  meeting 
you !'  " 

"  And  what  did  you  say  ?" 

"  I  said  I  didn't  want  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  him. 
Annie  walked  on,  and  then  he  said  he  was  very  sorry, 
that  it  was  bad  luck  that  drove  him  to  it." 

"  And  you  believed  him  V 

'^  I  daresay  it  is  very  foolish  of  me.  But  one  can't  help 
oneself.     Did  you  ever  really  care  for  a  man  ?" 

And  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  Sarah  continued 
her  babbling  chatter,  mentioning  incidentally  that  he  had 
been  away  in  the  country  and  had  come  back  with  very 
particular  information  regarding  a  certain  horse  for  the 
Cesarewitch.     If  the  horse  won  he'd  be  all  right. 

At  last  Esther's  patience  was  tired  out. 

"It  nmst  be  getting  late,"  she  said,  looking  towards 
where  the  sun  was  setting.  A  faint  haze  rose,  softening 
the  edges  of  the  warehouses  ;  a  wind,  too,  had  come  up 
with  the  tide,  and  the  women  shivered  as  they  passed 
under  the  arch  of  Waterloo  Bridge.  They  ascended  a 
flight  of  high  steps  and  walked  through  a  passage  into 
the  Strand. 

"  I  was  miserable  enough  with  him ;  we  used  to  have 
hardly  anything  to  eat ;  but  I'm  more  miserable  away 
from  him.  Esther,  I  know  you'll  laugh  at  me,  but  I'm 
that  heart-broken.  I  can't  live  without  him.  I'd  do 
anything  for  him. " 


ESTHER  WATERS  325 

"He  isn't  worth  it." 

"  That  don't  make  no  difference.  You  don't  know 
what  love  is ;  no  woman  does  who  hasn't  loved  a  man  who 
don't  love  her.  We  used  to  live  near  here.  Do  you  mind 
coming  up  Drury  Lane  ?  I  should  like  to  show  you  the 
house." 

"  I'm  afraid  it  will  be  out  of  our  way." 

"  No,  it  won't.  Round  by  the  church  and  up  Newcastle 
Street.  .  .  .  Look,  there's  a  shop  we  used  to  go  to  some- 
times. I've  eaten  many  a  good  sausage  and  onions  in 
there,  and  that's  a  pub  where  we  often  used  to  go  for  a 
drink." 

The  courts  and  alleys  had  vomited  their  population  into 
the  lane.  Fat  girls  clad  in  shawls  sat  round  the  slum 
opening  nursing  their  babies.  Old  women  crouched  in 
decrepit  doorways,  fumbling  their  aprons  ;  skipping  ropes 
whirled  in  the  roadway.  A  little  higher  up  a  vendor  of 
cheap  ices  had  set  up  his  store  and  was  rapidly  absorbing 
all  the  pennies  of  the  neighbourhood.  Esther  and  Sarah 
turned  into  a  dilapidated  court,  where  a  hag  argued  the 
price  of  trotters  with  a  family  leaning  one  over  the  other 
out  of  a  second-floor  window. 

'^That's  where  we  used  to  live,"  said  Sarah,  pointing 
up  to  the  third  floor.  "  I  fancy  our  house  will  soon  come 
down.  When  I  see  the  old  place  it  all  comes  back  to  me. 
I  remember  pawning  a  dress  over  the  way  in  the  lane ; 
they  would  only  lend  me  a  shilling  on  it.  And  you  see 
that  shop — the  shutters  is  up,  it  being  Sunday  ;  it  is  a  sort 
of  butcher's,  cheap  meat,  livers  and  lights,  trotters,  and 
such-like.  I  bought  a  bullock's  heart  there,  and  stewed 
it  down  with  some  potatoes ;  we  did  enjoy  it,  I  can  tell 
you." 

They  made  their  way  out  into  Catherine  Street,  and 
then  to  Endell  Street,  and  then  going  round  to  St.  Giles' 
Church,  they  plunged  into  the  labyrinth  of  Soho, 


326  ESTHER  WATERS 

"  I'm  afraid  I'm  tiring  you.  I  don't  see  what  interest 
all  this  can  be  to  you." 

"  We've  known  each  other  a  long  time." 

Sarah  looked  at  her^  and  then^  unable  to  resist  the 
temptation,  she  continued  her  narrative — Bill  had  said 
this,  she  had  said  that,  and  she  rattled  on,  until  they  came 
to  the  corner  of  Old  Compton  Street,  where  Esther,  who 
was  a  little  tired  of  her,  held  out  her  hand.  "  I  suppose 
you  must  be  getting  back ;  would  you  like  a  drop  of  some- 
thing .>" 

"  It  is  going  on  for  seven  o'clock  ;  but  since  you're  that 
kind  I  think  I'd  like  a  glass  of  beer." 

"  Do  you  listen  much  to  the  betting  talk  here  of  an 
evening?"  Sarah  asked,  as  she  was  leaving. 

"  I  don't  pay  much  attention,  but  I  can't  help  hearing  a 
good  deal." 

"  Do  they  talk  much  about  Ben  Jonson  for  the 
Cesare witch  ?" 

^'They  do,  indeed  ;  he's  all  the  go." 

Sarah's  face  brightened  perceptibly,  and  Esther  said  : 

"  Have  you  backed  him  .'"' 

"  Only  a  trifle  ;  half-a-crown  that  a  friend  put  me  on. 
Do  they  say  he'll  win  ?" 

'^  They  say  that  if  he  don't  break  down  he'll  win  by  'alf 
a  mile ;  it  all  depends  on  his  leg." 

'^  Is  he  coming  on  in  the  betting  ?" 

"Yes,  I  believe  they're  now  taking  12  to  1  about  him. 
But  I'll  ask  William,  if  you  like." 

"  No,  no  I  only  wanted  to  know  if  you'd  heard  anything 
new." 


ESTHER  WATERS  327 


XXXVII. 


During  the  next  fortnight  Sarah  came  several  times  to 
the  "King's  Head."  She  came  in  about  nine  in  the 
evenings  and  stayed  for  half  an  hour  or  more.  The 
object  of  her  visit  was  to  see  Esther,  bat  she  declined  to 
come  into  the  private  bar,  where  they  would  have  chatted 
comfortably,  and  remained  in  the  public  bar  listening  to 
the  men's  conversation,  listening  and  nodding  while  old 
John  explained  the  horse's  staying  power  to  her.  On  the 
following  evening  all  her  interest  was  in  Ketley.  She 
wanted  to  know  if  anything  had  happened  that  might  be 
considered  as  an  omen.  She  said  she  had  dreamed  about 
the  race,  but  her  dream  was  only  a  lot  of  foolish  rubbish 
without  head  or  tail.  Ketley  argued  earnestly  against  this 
view  of  a  serious  subject,  and  in  the  hope  of  convincing 
her  of  her  error  offered  to  walk  as  far  as  Oxford  Street 
with  her  and  put  her  into  her  'bus.  But  on  the  following 
evening  all  her  interest  was  centred  in  Mr.  Journeyman, 
who  declared  that  he  could  prove  that  according  to  the 
weight  it  seemed  to  him  to  look  more  and  more  like  a 
certainty.  He  had  let  the  horse  in  at  six  stone  ten  pounds, 
the  official  handicapper  had  only  given  him  six  stone  seven 
pounds. 

"  They  is  a-sending  of  him  along  this  week,  and  if  the 
leg  don't  go  it  is  a  hundred  pound  to  a  brass  farthing  on 
the  old  horse." 

"  How  many  times  will  they  gallop  him  ?"  Sarah  asked. 

"  He  goes  a  mile  and  a  'arf  every  day  now.  The  day 
after  to-morrow  they'll  try  him,  just  to  see  that  he  hasn't 
lost  his  turn  of  speed,  and  if  he  don't  break  down  in  the 
trial  you  can  take  it  from  me  that  it  will  be  all  right." 

"  When  will  you  know  the  result  of  the  trial  ?" 


328  ESTHER  WATERS 

"  I  expect  a  letter  on  Friday  morning/'  said  Stack. 
"  If  you  come  in  in  the  evening  I'll  let  you  know  about  it." 

"  Thank  you  very  much^  Mr.  Stack.  I  must  be  getting 
home  now." 

"  I'm  going  your  way,  Miss  Tucker.  If  you  like  we'll 
go  together,  and  I'll  tell  you/*  he  whispered,  "all  about 
the  'orse." 

When  they  had  left  the  bar  the  conversation  turned  on 
racing  as  an  occupation  for  w^omen. 

"  Fancy  my  wife  making  a  book  on  the  course.  I  bet 
she'd  overlay  it  and  then  turn  round  and  back  the  favourite 
at  a  shorter  price  than  she'd  been  laying." 

"I  don't  know  that  we  should  be  any  foolisher  than 
you/'  said  Esther  ;  "  don't  you  never  go  and  overlay  your 
book.''  What  about  Syntax  and  the  'orse  you  told  me 
about  last  week  ?" 

William  had  been  heavily  hit  last  week  through  over- 
laying his  book  against  a  horse  he  didn't  believe  in,  and 
the  whole  bar  joined  in  the  laugh  against  him. 

"  I  don't  say  nothing  about  bookmaking/'  said  Journey- 
man;  "but  there's  a  great  many  women  nowadays  who  is 
mighty  sharp  at  spotting  a  'orse  that  the  handicapper  had 
let  in  pretty  easy." 

"This  one/'  said  Ketley,  jerking  his  thumb  in  the 
direction  that  Stack  and  Sarah  had  gone,  "  seems  to  'ave 
got  hold  of  something." 

'^We  must  ask  Stack  when  he  comes  back/'  and 
Journeyman  winked  at  William. 

"  Women  do  get  that  excited  over  trifles/'  old  John 
remarked,  sarcastically.  "  She  ain't  got  above  'alf-a-crown 
on  the  'orse,  if  that.  She  don't  care  about  the  'orse  or  the 
race — no  woman  ever  did ;  it's  all  about  some  sweetheart 
that's  been  piling  it  on." 

"I    wonder  if  you're  right,"  said  Esther,  reflectively. 


ESTHER  WATERS  329 

"  I  never  knew  her  before  to  take  such  an  interest  in  a 
horse-race." 

On  the  day  of  the  race  Sarah  came  into  the  private  bar 
about  three  o'clock.     The  news  was  not  yet  in. 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  step  into  the  parlour  ;  you'll  be 
more  comfortable  ?"  said  Esther. 

"  No  thank  yoU;  dear  ;  it  is  not  worth  while.  I  thought 
I'd  like  to  know  which  won,  that's  all." 

"  Have  you  much  on  ?" 

"  No,  five  shillings  altogether.  But  a  friend  of  mine 
stands  to  win  a  good  bit,  I  see  you've  got  a  new  dress, 
dear.     When  did  you  get  it  ?" 

''  I've  had  the  stuff  by  me  some  time.  I  only  had  it 
made  up  last  month.     Do  you  like  it  ?" 

Sarah  answered  that  she  thought  it  very  pretty.  But 
Esther  could  see  that  she  was  thinking  of  something  quite 
different. 

"  The  race  is  over  now.     It's  run  at  half-past  two." 

"  Yes,  but  they're  never  quite  punctual ;  there  may  be 
a  delay  at  the  post." 

"I  see  you  know  all  about  it." 

"One  never  hears  of  anything  else." 

Esther  asked  Sarah  when  her  people  came  back  to  town, 
and  was  surprised  at  the  change  of  expression  that  the 
question  brought  to  her  friend's  face. 

"  They're  expected  back  to-morrow,"  she  said.  "Why 
do  you  ask  ?" 

"  Oh,  nothing ;  something  to  say,  that's  all."  And  the 
two  women  looked  at  each  other.  At  that  moment  a 
voice  coming  rapidly  towards  them  was  heard  calling, 
"  Win-ner,  win-ner !" 

"  I'll  send  out  for  the  paper,"  said  Esther. 

"  No,  no.     Suppose  he  shouldn't  have  won  ?" 

"Well,  it  won't  make  any  difference." 

"  Oh,  Esther,  no  ;   some  one  will  come  in  and  tell   us 


330  ESTHER  WATERS 

The  race  can't  be  over  yet ;  it  is  a  long  race,  and  takes 
some  time  to  run." 

By  this  time  the  boy  was  far  away,  and  fainter  and 
fainter  the  terrible  word,  "  Win-ner,  win-ner,  win-ner." 

"It's  too  late  now,"  said  Sarah;  '"^  some  one'll  come 
in  presently  and  tell  us  about  it.  I  daresay  it  ain't  the 
paper  at  all.  Them  boys  cries  out  anything  that  will 
sell." 

"  Win-ner,  win-ner."  The  voice  was  coming  towards 
them. 

"  If  he  has  won,  Bill  and  I  is  to  marry.  Somehow  I  feel 
as  if  he  hasn't." 

"Win-ner." 

"  We  shall  soon  know."  Esther  took  a  halfpenny  from 
the  till. 

"  Don't  you  think  we'd  better  wait  ?  It  can't  be 
printed  in  the  papers,  not  the  true  account,  and  if  it  was 

wrong "     Esther  didn't  answer  ;  she  gave  Charles  the 

halfpenny ;  he  went  out,  and  in  a  few  minutes  came  back 
with  the  paper  in  his  hand.  "  Tornado  first,  Ben  Jonson 
second.  Woodcraft  third,"  he  read  out.  "That's  a  good 
thing  for  the  guv 'nor.  There  was  very  few  Avhat  backed 
Tornado.     He's  only  lost  some  place-money." 

"So  he  M'as  only  second,"  said  Sarah,  turning  deadly 
pale.     "  They  said  he  was  certain  to  win." 

"  I  hope  you've  not  lost  much,"  said  Esther.  "  It 
wasn't  with  William  that  you  backed  him." 

"No,  it  wasn't  with  William.  I  only  had  a  few 
shillings  on.     It  don't  matter.     Let  me  have  a  drink." 

"  What  will  you  have  .''" 

"  Some  whisky." 

Sarah  drank  it  neat.     Esther  looked  at  her  doubtfully. 

The  bars  would  be  empty  for  the  next  two  hours  ; 
Esther  wished  to  utilize  this  time  ;  she  had  some  shopping 
to  do,  and  asked  Sarah  to  come   with   her.     But   Sarah 


ESTHER  WATERS  331 

complained   of  being  tired,  and  said  she  would  see  her 
when  she  came  back. 

Esther  went  out  perplexed,  and  was  detained  longer 
than  she  expected.  When  she  returned  Sarah  was 
staggering  about  in  the  bar-room,  asking  Charles  for  one 
more  drink. 

''  All  bloody  rot ;  who  says  I'm  drunk  ?  I  ain't.  Look 
at  me.  The  'orse  didn't  win,  did  he  ?  I  say  he  did  ; 
papers  all  so  much  bloody  rot." 

"  Oh,  Sarah,  what  is  this  ?" 

^' Who's  this?     Leave  go,  1  say." 

"  Mr.  Stack,  won't  you  ask  her  to  come  upstairs  ? 
.   .  .   Don't  encourage  her." 

"  Upstairs  ?  I'm  a  free  woman.  I  don't  want  to  go 
upstairs.  I'm  a  free  woman  ;  tell  me,"  she  said,  balancing 
herself  with  difficulty  and  staring  at  Esther  with  dull, 
fishy  eyes,  ^^tell  me  if  I'm  not  a  free  woman  ?  What  do  I 
want  upstairs  for?" 

"  Oh,  Sarah,  come  upstairs  and  lie  down.  Don't  go 
out." 

'^  I'm  going  home.  Hands  off,  hands  off!"  she  said 
slapping  Esther's  hands  from  her  arm. 

'' '  For  every  one  was  drunk  last  night. 
And  drunk  the  night  before  ; 
And  if  we  don't  get  drunk  to-night. 
We  won't  get  drunk  no  more. 

(Chorus) 

'* '  Now  you  will  have  a  drink  with  me. 
And  I  will  drink  with  you  ; 
For  we're  tlie  very  rowdiest  lot 
Of  the  rowdy  Irish  crew.' 

**  That's  what  wc  used  to  sing  in  the  lane,  yer  know  ; 
should  'ave  seen  the  coster  gals  with  their  feathers, 
dancing  and  clinking  their  pewters.     Rippin'  day,  Bank 


p 


332  ESTHER  WATERS 

'oliday,  Epping,  under  the  trees — 'ow  they  did  romp,  them 

gals  ! 

'' '  We  all  was  roaring  drunk  last  Dight, 
And  drunk  the  night  before  ; 
And  if  we  don't  get  drunk  to-night. 
We  won't  get  drunk  no  more.* 

Girls  and  boys,  you  know,  altogether." 

'^  Sarah,  listen  to  me." 

''  Listen  !  Come  and  have  a  drink,  old  gal,  just 
another  drink."  She  staggered  up  to  the  counter.  "  One 
more,  just  for  luck;  do  you  'ear?"  Before  Charles  could 
stop  her  she  had  seized  the  w^hisky  that  had  just  been 
served.  "  That's  my  whisky,"  exclaimed  Journeyman. 
He  made  a  rapid  movement,  but  was  too  late.  Sarah  had 
drained  the  glass  and  stood  looking  into  space.  Journey- 
man seemed  so  disconcerted  at  the  loss  of  his  whisky 
that  every  one  laughed. 

A  few  minutes  after  Sarah  staggered  forward  and  fell 
insensible  into  his  arms,  and  was  carried  upstairs  and  laid 
on  the  bed  in  the  spare  room. 

"  She'll  be  precious  bad  to-morrow,"  said  Journeyman. 

"  I  don't  know  how  you  could  have  gone  on  helping 
her,"  Esther  said  to  Charles  when  she  got  inside  the  bar ; 
and  she  seemed  so  pained  that  out  of  deference  to  her 
feelings  the  subject  was  dropped  out  of  the  conversation. 
She  felt  that  something  shocking  had  happened  for 
Sarah  to  have  got  drunk  deliberately.  She  would  not 
have  done  that  unless  she  had  some  great  trouble  on  her 
mind.  William,  too,  was  of  this  opinion.  Something 
serious  must  have  happened.  As  they  went  up  to  their 
room  Esther  said  : 

"  It  is  all  the  fault  of  this  betting.  The  neighbourhood 
is  completely  ruined.  They're  losing  their  'omes  and 
,  their  furniture,  and  you'll  bear  the  blame  of  it." 

"  It  do  make  me  so  wild  to  hear  you  talkin'  that  way, 


ESTHER  WATERS  S3S 

Esther.  People  will  bet,  you  can't  stop  them.  I  lays 
fair  prices,  and  they're  sure  of  their  money.  Yet  you  says 
they're  losin'  their  furniture,  and  that  1  shall  have  to  bear 
the  blame," 

When  they  got  to  the  top  of  the  stairs  she  said  : 

"  I  must  go  and  see  how  Sarah  is." 

"  Where  am  I  ?  What's  ha])pened  ?  .  .  .  Take  that 
candle  out  of  my  eyes.  Oh,  my  head  is  that  painful." 
She  fell  back  on  the  pillow,  and  Esther  thought  she  had 
gone  to  sleep  again.  But  she  opened  her  eyes.  "  Where 
am  I  .^  .   .  .  That's  you,  Esther  ?" 

"  Yes,  can't  you  remember?" 

"  No,  I  can't.  I  remember  that  the  'orse  didn't  win, 
but  don't  remember  nothing  after.  I  got  drunk,  didn't 
I }     It  feels  like  it." 

"  The  'orse  didn't  win,  and  then  you  took  too  much. 
It's  very  foolish  of  you  to  give  way." 

"  Give  way  I     Drunk,  what  matter  ?     I'm  done  for." 

'^  Did  you  lose  much  ?" 

"  It  wasn't  what  I  lost,  it  was  what  I  took.  I  gave 
Bill  the  plate  to  pledge  ;  it's  all  gone,  and  master  and 
missis  coming  back  to-morrow.  And  I  got  drunk  so  that 
I  shouldn't  think  of  it." 

"  Oh,  Sarah,  I  didn't  think  it  was  as  bad  as  that.  You 
must  tell  me  all  about  it." 

''I  don't  want  to  think  about  it.  They'll  come  soon 
enough    to    take    me    away.       Besides,    I    can   remember 

nothing  now.      My  mouth's  that  awful Give    me  a 

drink.  Never  mind  the  glass,  give  me  the  water- 
bottle." 

She  drank  ravenously,  seemed  to  recover  a  little,  and 
Esther  pressed  her  to  tell  her  about  the  pledged  plate. 
"  You  know  that  I  am  your  friend.  You'd  better  tell  me. 
I  M-ant  to  help  you  out  of  this  scrape." 

"  No  one  can  help  me  now,  I'm  done  for.      Let  them 


334>  ESTHER  WATERS 

come  and  take  me.  I'll  go  with  them.  I  shan't  say 
nothing." 

"  How  much  is  it  in  for  ?  Don't  cry  like  that,"  Esther 
said,  and  she  took  out  her  handkerchief  and  wiped  Sarah's 
eyes.  "'  How  much  is  it  in  for  ?  Perhaps  I  can  get  my 
husband  to  lend  me  the  money  to  get  it  out." 

"It's  no  use  trying  to  help  me,  Esther,  I  can't  talk 
about  it  now  ;  I  shall  go  mad  if  I  do." 

"  Tell  me  how  much  you  got  on  it." 

"  Thirty  pounds." 

It  took  a  long  time  to  undress  her.  Every  now  and 
then  she  made  an  effort,  and  another  article  of  clothing 
was  dragged  off  her.  She  was  asleep  when  Esther 
returned  to  her  room.  William  was  asleep,  and  Esther 
took  him  by  the  shoulder. 

"  It  is  more  serious  than  I  thought  for,"  she  shouted. 
"  I  want  to  tell  you  about  it." 

"  What  about  it?"  he  said,  opening  his  eyes. 

"She  has  pledged  the  plate  for  thirty  pounds  to  back 
that  'orse." 

"What  'orse?" 

"  Ben  Jonson." 

"  He  broke  down  at  the  bushes.  If  he  hadn't  I  should 
have  been  broke  up.  The  whole  neighbourhood  was  on 
him.  So  she  pledged  the  plate  to  back  him.  She  didn't 
do  that  to  back  him  herself  Some  one  must  have  put  her 
up  to  it." 

"Yes,  it  was  Bill  Evans." 

"  Ah,  that  blackguard  put  her  up  to  it.  I  thought  she'd 
left  him  for  good.  She  promised  us  that  she'd  never  speak 
to  him  again." 

"  You  see,  she  was  that  fond  of  him  that  she  couldn't 
help  herself.     There's  many  that  can't." 

"  How  much  did  they  get  on  the  plate  ?" 

"  Thirty  pounds." 


ESTHER  WATERS  335 

William  blew  a  long  whistle.  Then,  starting  up  in  bed, 
he  said,  ^'  She  can't  stop  here.  If  it  comes  out  that  it  was 
through  betting,  it  won't  do  this  house  any  good.  We're 
already  suspected.  There's  that  old  sweetheart  of  yours, 
the  Salvation  cove,  on  the  look  out  for  evidence  of  betting 
being  carried  on." 

"  She'll  go  away  in  the  morning.  But  I  thought  that 
you  might  lend  her  the  money  to  get  the  plate  out." 

"  What !  thirty  pounds  ?" 

'^  It's  a  deal  of  money,  I  know  ;  but  I  thought  that  you 
might  be  able  to  manage  it.  You've  been  lucky  over  this 
race." 

"Yes,  but  think  of  all  I've  lost  this  summer.  This  is 
the  first  bit  of  luck  I've  had  for  a  long  while." 

"  I  thought  you  might  be  able  to  manage  it." 

Esther  stood  by  the  bedside,  her  knee  leaned  against  the 
edge.  She  seemed  to  him  at  that  moment  as  the  best 
woman  in  the  world,  and  he  said  ; 

"  Thirty  pounds  is  no  more  to  me  than  twopence-half- 
penny if  you  wish  it,  Esther." 

"  I  haven't  been  an  extravagant  wife,  have  I  ?"  she  said, 
getting  into  bed  and  taking  him  in  her  arms.  ''  I  never 
asked  you  for  money  before.  She's  my  friend — she's  yours 
too — we've  known  her  all  our  lives.  We  can't  see  her  go 
to  prison,  can  we,  Bill,  without  raising  a  finger  to  save 
her  ?" 

She  had  never  c^^ed-iiiiiL  Bill  befojie,  and  the  familiar 
abbreviation  touched  him,  and  he  said  : 

"  I  owe  everything  to  you,  Esther ;  everything  that's 
mine  is  yours.  But,"  he  said,  drawing  away  so  that  he 
might  see  her  better,  "  what  do  you  say  if  I  ask  something 
of  you  ?" 

"  What  are  you  going  to  ask  me  ?" 

"  1  want  you  to  say  that  you  won't  botlier  me  no  more 
about    the    betting.     You    was    brought    up    to  think  it 


336  ESTHER  WATERS 

wicked.  I  know  all  that,  but  you  see  we  can't  do 
without  it." 

"Do  you  think  not?" 

"  Don't  the  thirty  pounds  you're  asking  for  Sarah  come 
out  of  betting  ?" 

"I  suppose  it  do." 

"Most  certainly  it  do." 

''  I  can't  help  feeling,  Bill,  that  we  shan't  always  be  so 
lucky  as  we  have  been." 

"  You  mean  that  you  think  that  one  of  these  days  we 
shall  have  the  police  down  upon  us?" 

"  Don't  you  sometimes  think  that  we  can't  always  go 
on  without  being  caught  ?  Every  day  I  hear  of  the  police 
being  down  on  some  betting  club  or  other." 

"They've  been  down  on  a  great  number  lately,  but 
what  can  I  do  ?  We  always  come  back  to  that.  I  haven't 
the  health  to  work  round  from  racecourse  to  racecourse 
as  I  used  to.  But  I've  got  an  idea,  Esther.  I've  been 
thinking  over  things  a  great  deal  lately,  and — give  me  my 
pipe — there,  it's  just  by  you.  Now,  hold  the  candle,  like 
a  good  girl." 

William  pulled  at  his  pipe  until  it  was  fully  lighted. 
He  threw  himself  on  his  back,  and  then  he  said  : 

"I've  been  thinking  things  over.  The  betting  'as 
brought  us  a  nice  bit  of  trade  here.  If  we  can  work  up 
the  business  a  bit  more  we  might,  let's  say  in  a  year  from 
now,  be  able  to  get  as  much  for  the  'ouse  as  we  gave  for  it. 
What  do  you  think  of  buying  a  business  in  the  country,  a 
'ouse  doing  a  steady  trade  ?  I've  had  enough  of  London, 
the  climate  don't  suit  me  as  it  used  to.  I  fancy  I  should 
be  much  better  in  the  country,  somewhere  on  the  South 
Coast.     Bournemouth  way,  what  do  you  think  ?" 

Before  Esther  could  reply  William  was  taken  with  a  fit 
of  coughing,  and  his  great  broad  frame  was  shaken  as  if  it 
were  so  much  paper. 


ESTHER  WATERS  887 

'^  I'm  sure,"  said  Esther,  when  he  had  recovered  himself 
a  little,  "  that  a  good  deal  of  your  trouble  comes  from  that 
pipe.  It's  never  out  of  your  mouth.  I  feel  like  choking 
myself." 

"  I  daresay  I  smoke  too  much.  I'm  not  the  man  I  was. 
I  can  feel  it  plain  enough.  Put  my  pipe  down  and  blow 
out  the  candle.     I  didn't  ask  you  how  Sarah  was." 

"  Very  bad.  She  was  half  dazed  and  didn't  tell  me 
much." 

"  She  didn't  tell  you  where  she  had  pledged  the  plate  ?'* 

"No,  I  will  ask  her  about  that  to-morrow  morning," 
and  leaning  forward  she  blew  out  the  candle.  The  wick 
smouldered  red  for  a  moment,  and  they  fell  asleep  happy 
in  each  other's  love,  seeming  to  find  new  bonds  of  union 
in  pity  for  their  friend's  misfortune. 


XXXVIII. 

"  Sarah,  you  must  make  an  effort  and  try  to  dress  your- 
self" 

"  Oh,  I  do  feel  that  bad,  I  wish  I  was  dead  !'* 

"  You  mustn't  give  way  like  that ;  let  me  help  you  put 
on  your  stockings." 

Sarah  looked  at  Esther.  "  You're  very  good  to  me,  but 
I  can  manage."  When  she  had  drawn  on  her  stockings 
her  strength  was  exhausted,  and  she  fell  back  on  the 
pillow. 

"  Here're  your  petticoats.  Tie  them  round  you ;  and 
I'll  lend  you  a  dressing-gown  and  a  pair  of  slippers." 

William,  who  was  having  breakfast  in  the  parlour^ 
asked  Sarah  what  she'd  have.  "There's  a  nice  bit  of 
fried  fish,"  he  said.     "  Not  feeling  up  to  it?" 

"Oh,  no  !  I  couldn't  touch  anything."  She  let  herself 
drop  on  the  sofa. 


33S  ESTHER  WATERS 

"A  cup  of  tea'U  do  you  good,"  said  Esther.  "You 
must  have  a  cup  of  tea,  and  a  bit  of  toast  just  to  nibble. 
William,  pour  her  out  a  cup  of  tea." 

When  she  had  drunk  the  tea  she  said  she  felt  a  little 
better. 

"Now/'  said  William,  "let's  'ear  all  about  it.  Esther 
has  told  you,  no  doubt,  that  we  intend  to  do  all  we  can 
to  help  you." 

"You  can't  help  me.  I'm  done  for,"  she  replied 
dolefully. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  William.  "  You  gave 
that  brute  Bill  Evans  the  plate  to  pawn,  so  far  as  I 
know." 

"There  isn't  much  more  to  tell.  He  said  the  horse 
was  sure  to  win.  He  was  at  thirty  to  one  at  that  time. 
A  thousand  to  thirty.  Bill  said  with  that  money  we 
could  buy  a  public-house  in  the  country.     He  wanted  to 

settle  down,  he  wanted  to  get  out  of I  don't  want  to 

say  nothing  against  him.  He  said  if  I  would  only  give 
him  this  chance  of  leading  a  respectable  life,  we  was  to 
be  married  immediately  after." 

"  He  told  you  all  that,  did  he  }  He  said  he'd  give  you 
a  'ome  of  your  own,  I  know.  A  regular  rotter ;  that  man 
is  about  as  bad  as  they  make  'em.  And  you  believed 
it  all?" 

"  It  wasn't  so  much  what  I  believed  as  what  I  couldn't 
help  myself.  He  has  got  that  influence  over  me  that  my 
will  isn't  my  own.  I  don't  know  how  it  is — I  suppose 
men  have  stronger  natures  than  women.  I  'ardly  knew 
what  I  was  doing ;  it  was  like  sleep-walking.  He  looked 
at  me  and  said,  ^ You'd  better  do  it.'  I  did  it,  and  I 
suppose  I'll  hare  to  go  to  prison  for  it.  W^hat  I  says  is 
just  the  truth,  but  no  one  believes  tales  like  that.  How 
long  do  you  think  they'll  give  me  .'"' 

"  I  hope  we  shall  be  able  to  get  you  out  of  this  scrape. 


ESTHER  WATERS  339 

You  got  thirty  pounds  on  the  plate.     Esther  has  told  you 
that  I'm  ready  to  lend  you  the  money  to  get  it  out." 

"  Will  you  do  this  ?  You're  good  friends  indeed. 
But  I  shall  never  be  able  to  pay  you  back  such  a  lot  of 
money." 

"  We  won't  say  nothing  about  paying  back  ;  all  we 
want  you  to  do  is  to  say  that  you'll  never  see  that  fellow 
again." 

A  change  of  expression  came  over  Sarah's  face,  and 
William  said,  "  You're  surely  not  still  hankering  after 
him?" 

"  No,  indeed  I'm  not.     But  whenever  I  meets  him  he     ^ 
somehow  gets  his  way  with  me.     It's  terrible  to  love  a      y 
man  as  I  love  him.     I  know  he  don't  really  care  for  me — 
I  know  he  is  all  you  say,  and  yet  I  can't  help  myself.     It 
is  better  to  be  honest  with  you." 

William  looked  puzzled.  At  the  end  oi  a  long  silence 
he  said,  ^^If  it's  like  that  I  don't  see  that  we  can  do 
anything." 

'*  Have  patience,  William.  Sarah  don't  know  what  she's 
saying.     She'll  promise  not  to  see  him  again." 

"  You're  very  kind  to  me.  I  know  I'm  very  foolish. 
I  promised  before  not  to  see  him,  and  I  couldn't  keep  my 
promise. " 

"  You  can  stop  with  us  until  you  get  a  situation  in  the 
country,"  said  Esther,  "where  you'll  be  out  of  his  way." 

"I  might  do  that." 

"  I  don't  like  to  part  with  my  money,"  said  William, 
"  if  it  is  to  do  no  one  any  good."  Esther  looked  at  him, 
and  he  added,  ''  It  is  just  as  Esther  wishes,  of  course  ;  I'm 
not  giving  you  the  money,  it  is  she." 

"  It  is  both  of  us,"  said  Esther;  "you'll  do  what  I  said, 
Sarah?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  anything  you  say,  Esther,"  and  she  flung 
herself  into  her  friend's  arms  and  wept  bitterly. 


340  ESTHER  WATERS 

"  Now  we  want  to  know  where  you  pawned  the  plate/' 
said  William. 

"A  long  way  from  here.  Bill  said  he  knew  a  place 
where  it  would  be  quite  safe.  I  was  to  say  that  my 
mistress  left  it  to  me ;  he  said  that  would  be  sufficient. 
It  was  in  the  Mile  End  Road." 

^^  You'd  know  the  shop  again  ?"  said  William. 

"But  she's  got  the  ticket/'  said  Esther. 

"  No,  I  ain't  got  the  ticket ;  Bill  has  it." 

"Then  I'm  afraid  the  game's  up." 

"Do  be  quiet/'  said  Esther^  angrily.  '*^  If  you  want 
to  get  out  of  lending  the  money  say  so  and  have  done 
with  it." 

"  That's  not  true,  Esther.  If  you  want  another  thirty 
to  pay  him  to  give  up  the  ticket,  you  can  have  it." 

Esther  thanked  her  husband  with  one  quick  look.  "I'm 
sorry/'  she  said,  "  my  temper  is  that  hasty.  But  you  know 
where  he  lives/'  she  said,  turning  to  the  wretched  woman 
who  sat  on  the  sofa  pale  and  trembling. 

"Yes,  I  know  where  he  lives — 13,  Milward  Square, 
Mile  End  Road." 

"Then  we've  no  time  to  lose;  we  must  go  after  him 
at  once." 

"  No,  William  dear ;  you  must  not ;  you'd  only  lose  your 
temper,  and  he  might  do  you  an  injury." 

"An  injury!  I'd  soon  show  him  which  was  the  best 
man  of  the  two." 

"I'll  not  hear  of  it,  Sarah.  He  mustn't  go  with 
you." 

"  Come,  Esther,  don't  be  foolish.     Let  me  go." 

He  had  taken  his  hat  from  the  peg.  Esther  got  between 
him  and  the  door. 

"  I  forbid  it,"  she  said ;  "  I  will  not  let  you  go — perhaps 
to  have  a  fight,  and  with  that  cough." 

William  was  coughing.     He  had  turned  pale,  and  he 


ESTHER  WATERS  341 

said,  leaning  against  the  table,  "  Give  me  something  to 
drink,  a  little  milk." 

Esther  poured  some  into  a  cup.  He  sipped  it  slowly. 
"  I'll  go  upstairs,"  she  said,  ''  for  my  hat  and  jacket. 
You've  got  your  betting  to  attend  to."  William  smiled. 
"  Sarah,  mind,  he's  not  to  go  with  you." 

"  You  forget  what  you  said  last  night  about  the 
betting." 

^'  Never  mind  what  I  said  last  night  about  the  betting ; 
what  I  say  now  is  that  you're  not  to  leave  the  bar.  Come 
upstairs,  Sarah,  and  dress  yourself,  and  let's  be  off." 

Stack  and  Journeyman  were  waiting  to  speak  to  him. 
They  had  lost  heavily  over  old  Ben  and  didn't  know  how 
they'd  pull  through ;  and  the  whole  neighbourhood  was  in 
the  same  plight ;  the  bar  was  filled  with  gloomy  faces. 

And  as  William  scanned  their  disconcerted  faces — clerks, 
hair-dressers,  waiters  from  the  innumerable  eating  houses 
— he  could  not  help  thinking  that  perhaps  more  than  one 
of  them  had  taken  money  that  did  not  belong  to  them  to 
back  Ben  Jonson.  The  unexpected  disaster  had  upset  all 
their  plans,  and  even  the  wary  ones  who  had  a  little  reserve 
fund  could  not  help  backing  outsiders,  hoping  by  the 
longer  odds  to  retrieve  yesterday's  losses.  At  two  the  bar 
was  empty,  and  William  waited  for  Esther  and  Sarah  to 
return  from  Mile  End.  It  seemed  to  him  that  they  were 
a  long  time  away.  But  Mile  End  is  not  close  to  Soho  ; 
and  when  they  returned,  between  four  and  five,  he  saw  at 
once  that  they  had  been  unsuccessful.  He  lifted  up  the 
flap  in  the  counter  and  all  three  went  into  the  parlour. 

^^  He  left  Milward  Square  yesterday,"  Esther  said, 
"  and  we  went  to  another  address,  and  then  to  another  ; 
we  went  to  all  the  places  Sarah  had  been  to  with  him,  but 
no  tidings  anywhere." 

Sarah  burst  into  tears.  "  There's  no  more  hope,"  she 
said.      ^'  I'm  done  for  ;    they'll  come  and  take  me  away. 


342  ESTHER  WATERS 

How  much  do  you  think  I'll  get?      They  won't  give  me 
ten  years,  will  they  ?" 

"  I  can  see  nothing  else  for  you  to  do/'  said  Esther, 
"  but  to  go  straight  back  to  your  people  and  tell  them  the 
whole  story,  and  throw  yourself  on  their  mercy." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  she  should  say  that  she  pawned  the 
plate  to  get  money  to  back  a  horse  ?" 

"Of  course  I  do." 

"It  will  make  the  police  more  keen  than  ever  on  the 
betting-houses." 

"  That  can't  be  helped." 

"  She'd  better  not  be  took  here,"  said  William  ;  "  it 
will  do  a  great  deal  of  harm.  It  don't  make  no  difference 
to  her  where  she's  took,  do  it.'"' 

Esther  did  not  answer. 

"  I'll  go  away.  I  don't  want  to  get  no  one  into  trouble," 
Sarah  said,  and  she  got  up  from  the  sofa. 

At  that  moment  Charles  opened  the  door,  and  said, 
''  You're  wanted  in  the  bar,  sir." 

William  went  out  quickly.  He  returned  a  moment 
after.  There  was  a  scared  look  on  his  face.  ''They're 
here,"  he  said.  He  was  followed  by  two  policemen. 
Sarah  uttered  a  little  cry. 

"  Your  name  is  Sarah  Tucker  ?"  said  the  first  policeman. 

"Yes." 

"  You're  charged  with  robbery  by  Mr.  Sheldon,  .34, 
Cumberland  Place." 

"  Shall  I  be  taken  through  the  streets?" 

"If  you  like  to  pay  for  it,  you  can  go  in  a  cab,"  the 
police-officer  replied. 

"  I'll  go  with  you,  dear,"  Esther  said.  William  plucked 
her  by  the  sleeve.  "  It  will  do  no  good.  Why  should 
you  go  ?" 


ESTHER  WATERS  34>S 


XXXIX. 


The  magistrate^  of  course,  sent  the  case  for  trial,  and  the 
thirty  pounds  which  William  had  promised  to  give  to 
Esther  went  to  pay  for  the  defence.  There  seemed  at 
first  some  hope  that  the  prosecution  would  not  be  able  to 
prov^e  its  case,  but  fresh  evidence  connecting  Sarah  with 
the  abstraction  of  the  plate  was  forthcoming,  and  in  the 
end  it  was  thought  advisable  that  the  plea  of  not  guilty 
should  be  withdrawn.  The  efforts  of  counsel  were  there- 
fore directed  towards  a  mitigation  of  sentence.  Counsel 
called  Esther  and  William  for  the  purpose  of  proving  the 
excellent  character  that  the  prisoner  had  hitherto  borne ; 
counsel  spoke  of  the  evil  influence  into  which  the  prisoner 
had  fallen,  and  urged  that  she  had  no  intention  of  actually 
stealing  the  plate.  Tempted  by  promises,  she  had  been 
persuaded  to  pledge  the  plate  in  order  to  back  a  horse 
which  she  had  been  told  was  certain  to  win.  If  that  horse 
had  won,  the  plate  would  have  been  redeemed  and 
returned  to  its  proper  place  in  the  owner's  house,  and  the 
prisoner  would  have  been  able  to  marry.  Possibly  the 
marriage  on  which  the  prisoner  had  set  her  heart  would 
have  turned  out  more  unfortunate  for  the  prisoner  than  the 
present  proceedings.  Counsel  had  not  words  strong  enough 
to  stigmatise  the  character  of  a  man  who,  having  induced 
a  girl  to  imperil  her  liberty  for  his  own  vile  ends,  was 
cowardly  enough  to  abandon  her  in  the  hour  of  her  deepest 
distress.  Counsel  drew  attention  to  the  trusting  nature  of 
the  prisoner,  who  had  not  only  pledged  her  employer's 
plate  at  his  base  instigation,  but  had  likewise  been  foolish 
enough  to  confide  the  pawn-ticket  to  his  keeping.  Such 
was  the  prisoner's  story,  and  he  submitted  that  it  bore  on 
the  face  of  it  the  stamp  of  truth.  A  very  sad  story,  but 
one  fun^of^simple^iisolish^^  and,  having 


344  ESTHER  WATERS 

regard  to  the  excellent  character  the  prisoner  had  borne, 
counsel  hoped  that  his  lordship  would  see  his  way  to 
dealing  leniently  with  her. 

His  lordship,  whose  gallantries  had  been  prolonged  over 
half  a  century,  and  whose  betting  transactions  were  matters 
of  public  comment,  pursed  up  his  ancient  lips  and  fixed 
his  dead  glassy  eyes  on  the  prisoner.  He  said  he  regretted 
that  he  could  not  take  the  same  view  of  the  prisoner's 
character  as  learned  counsel  had  done.  The  police  had 
made  every  effort  to  apprehend  the  man  Evans  who, 
according  to  the  prisoner's  story,  was  the  principal  culprit. 
But  the  efforts  of  the  police  had  been  unavailing;  they 
had,  however,  found  traces  of  the  man  Evans,  who 
undoubtedly  did  exist,  and  need  not  be  considered  to  be  a 
near  relative  of  our  friend  Mrs.  Harris.  The  trite  joke 
provoked  some  little  merriment  in  the  court.  Learned 
counsel  settled  their  robes  becomingly  and  leant  forward 
to  listen,  feeling  that  they  were  in  for  a  humorous  speech, 
and  that  the  prisoner  would  get  off  with  a  light  sentence. 
But  the  grim  smile  waxed  duller,  and  it  was  clear  that 
lordship  was  determined  to  make  the  law  a  terror  to  evil- 
doers. 

Lordship  drew  attention  io  the  fact  that  during  the 
course  of  their  investigations  the  police  had  discovered  that 
the  prisoner  had  been  living  for  some  considerable  time 
with  the  man  Evans,  during  which  time  several  robberies 
had  been  effected.  There  was  no  evidence,  it  was  true,  to 
connect  the  prisoner  with  these  robberies.  The  prisoner 
had  left  the  man  Evans  and  had  obtained  a  situation  in  the 
house  of  her  present  employers.  When  the  characters  she 
had  received  from  her  former  employers  were  being 
examined  she  had  accounted  for  the  year  she  had  spent 
with  the  man  Evans  by  saying  that  she  had  been  staying 
with  the  Latches,  the  publicans  who  had  given  evidence  in 
her  favour.      It  had  also  come  to  the  knowledo;e  of  the 


ESTHER  WATERS  345 

police  that  the  man  Evans  used  to  frequent  the  *^  King's 
Head,"  that  was  the  house  owned  by  the  Latches  ;  it  was 
probable  that  she  had  made  there  the  acquaintance  of  the 
man  Evans.  The  prisoner  had  referred  her  employers  to 
the  Latches,  who  had  lent  their  sanction  to  the  falsehood 
regarding  the  year  she  was  supposed  to  have  spent  with 
them,  but  which  she  had  really  spent  in  cohabitation  with 
a  notorious  thief.  Here  lordship  indulged  in  severe 
remarks  against  those  who  enabled  not  wholly  irreproach- 
able characters  to  obtain  situations  by  false  pretences,  a 
very  common  habit,  and  one  attended  with  great  danger  to 
society — one  which  society  would  do  well  to  take  pre- 
cautions to  defend  itself  against. 

The  plate,  his  lordship  remarked,  was  said  to  have  been 
pawned,  but  there  was  nothing  to  show  that  it  had  been 
pawned,  the  prisoner's  explanation  being  that  she  had 
given  the  pawn-ticket  to  the  man  Evans.  She  could  not 
tell  where  she  had  pawned  the  plate,  her  tale  being  that 
she  and  the  man  Evans  had  gone  down  to  Whitechapel 
together  and  pawned  it  in  the  Mile  End  Road.  But  she 
did  not  know  the  number  of  the  pawnbroker's,  nor  could 
she  give  any  indications  as  to  its  whereabouts — beyond  the 
mere  fact  that  it  was  in  the  Mile  End  Road  she  could  say 
nothing.  All  the  pawnbrokers  in  the  Mile  End  Road  had 
been  searched,  but  no  plate  answering  to  the  description 
furnished  by  the  prosecution  could  be  found. 

Learned  counsel  had  endeavoured  to  show  that  it  had 
been  in  a  measure  unpremeditated,  that  it  was  the  result 
of  a  passing  but  irresistible  temptation.  Learned  counsel 
had  endeavoured  to  introduce  some  element  of  romance 
into  the  case  ;  he  had  described  the  theft  as  the  outcome 
of  the  prisoner's  desire  of  marriage,  but  lordship  could  not 
find  such  purity  of  motive  in  the  prisoner's  crime.  There 
was  nothing  to  show  that  there  was  any  thought  of 
marriage  in  the  prisoner's  mind ;  the  crime  was  the  result, 


346  ESTHER  WATERS 

not  of  any  desire  of  marriage,  but  rather  the  result  of 
vicious  passion,  concubinage.  Regarding  the  plea  that 
the  crime  was  unpremeditated,  it  was  only  necessary  to 
point  out  that  it  had  been  committed  for  a  distinct 
purpose  and  had  been  carried  out  in  conjunction  with  an 
accomplished  thief. 

"There  is  now  only  one  more  point  which  I  wish  to 
refer  to,  and  that  is  the  plea  that  the  prisoner  did  not 
intend  to  steal  the  plate,  but  only  to  obtain  money  upon 
it  to  enable  her  and  the  partner  in  her  guilt  to  back  a 
horse  for  a  race  which  they  believed  to  be — "  his  lord- 
ship was    about  to  say  a  certainty  for  him  ;  he    stopped 
himself,  however,  in   time — ^^  to    be,  to  be,  which    they 
believed    him   to  be   capable    of  winning.     The  race    in 
question  is,  I  think,  called  the  Cesarewitch,  and  the  name 
of  the  horse    (lordship  had   lost  three   hundred  on   Ben 
Jonson),  if  my   memory  serves  me   right   (here  lordship 
fumbled  amid  papers),  yes,  the    name    is,  as    I   thought, 
Ben  Jonson.     Now,  the  learned  counsel  for  the  defence 
suggested  that,  if  the  horse  had  won,  the    plate    would 
have  been  redeemed  and  restored  to  its  proper  })lace  in 
the  pantry  cupboards.     This,  I  venture  to  point  out,  is  a 
mere   hypothesis.     The    money  might   have    been   again 
used  for  the  purpose  of  gambling.     I  confess  that  I  do 
not   see  why  we   should    condone   the   prisoner's    offence 
because    it   was    committed    for    the    sake    of    obtaining 
money  for  gambling  purposes.     Indeed,  it  seems  to  me 
a  reason  for  dealing  heavily  with  the  offence.     The  vice 
among  the  poorer  classes  is  largely  on  the  increase,  and 
it  seems  to  me  that  it  is  the  duty  of  all  in  authority  to 
condemn  rather  than  to  condone  the  evil,  and  to  use  every 
effort  to  stamp  it  out.     For    my  part  I  fail    to    perceive 
any  romantic  element  in  the  vice  of  gambling.     It  springs 
from  the  desire  to  obtain  wealth  without  work,  in  other 
words,  without  payment ;  work,  whether  in  the  past  or 


ESTHER  WATERS  347 

the  i)resent,  is  the  natural  payment  for  wealth,  and  any 
wealth  that  is  obtained  without  work  is  in  a  measure  a 
fraud  committed  upon  the  community.  Poverty,  despair, 
idleness,  and  every  other  vice  spring  from  gambling  as 
naturally,  and  in  the  same  profusion,  as  weeds  from 
barren  land.     Drink,  too,  is  gambling's  firmest  ally." 

At  this  moment  a  certain  dryness  in  his  lordship's 
throat  reminded  him  of  the  pint  of  excellent  claret  that 
lordship  always  drank  with  his  lunch,  and  the  thought 
enabled  lordship  to  roll  out  some  excellent  invective  against 
the  evils  of  beer  and  spirits.  And  lordship's  losses  on  the 
horse  whose  name  he  could  hardly  recall  helped  to  a 
forcible  illustration  of  the  theory  that  drink  and 
gambling  mutually  uphold  and  enforce  each  other.  'When 
the  news  came  in  that  Ben  Jonson  had  broken  down  at  the 
bushes,  lordship  had  drunk  a  magnum  of  champagne,  and 
memory  of  this  champagne  inspired  a  telling  description 
of  the  sinking  feeling  consequent  on  the  loss  of  a  wager, 
and  the  natural  hiclination  of  a  man  to  turn  to  drink  to 
counteract  it.  Drink  and  gambling  are  gi'owing  social 
evils  ;  in  a  great  measure  they  are  consequential,  and  only 
require  absolute  legislation  to  stamp  them  out  almost 
entirely.  This  was  not  the  first  case  of  the  kind  that  had 
come  before  him  ;  it  was  one  of  many,  but  it  -vvas  a  typical 
case,  presenting  all  the  familiar  features  of  the  vice  of 
which  he  had  therefore  spoken  at  unusual  length.  Such 
cases  were  on  the  increase,  and  if  they  continued  to 
increase,  the  powers  of  the  law  would  have  to  be 
strengthened.  But  even  as  the  law  stood  at  present, 
betting- houses,  public-houses  in  which  betting  was  carried 
on,  were  illegal,  and  it  was  the  duty  of  the  police  to  leave 
no  means  untried  to  unearth  the  offenders  and  bring  them 
to  justice.  He  condemned  her  to  eighteen  months'  hard 
labour,  and  gathering  up  the  papers  on  the  desk,  dismissed 
her  for  ever  from  his  mind,  and  the  court  adjourned  for 


% 


348  ESTHER  WATERS 

lunch,  and  William  and  Esther  edged  their  way  out  of  the 
crowd  of  lawyers  and  their  clerks.  Neither  spoke  for 
some  time.  William  was  much  exercised  by  his  lordship's 
remarks  on  betting  public-houses,  and  his  advice  that  the 
police  should  increase  their  vigilance  and  leave  no  means 
untried  to  uproot  that  which  was  the  curse  and  the  ruin 
of  the  lower  classes.  It  was_the_  old  story— one  law  for 
the  rich,  another  for  the  poor.  William  did  not  seek  to 
probe  the  question  any  further,  this  examination  seemed 
to  him  to  have  exhausted  it  ;  and  he  remembered  that 
when  he  was  caught  he  would  be  fined  a  hundred  pounds, 
and  probably  lose  his  licence.  And  what  would  he  do  then  ? 
He  did  not  confide  his  fears  to  Esther.  She  had  promised 
to  say  no  more  about  the  betting  ;  but  she  had  not  changed 
her  opinion.  She  was  one  of  those  stubborn  ones  who 
would  rather  die  than  admit  they  were  wrong.  And  then 
he  wondered  what  she  thought  of  his  lordship's  speech. 
Esther  was  thinking  of  the  thin  gruel  Sarah  would  have 
to  eat,  the  plank  bed  on  which  she  would  have  to  sleep, 
and  the  miserable  future  that  awaited  her  when  she  should 
be  released  from  gaol. 

It  was  a  bright  winter's  day ;  the  City  folk  were 
walking  rapidly,  tightly  buttoned  up  in  top-coats,  and  in 
a  windy  sky  a  flock  of  pigeons  floated  on  straightened 
wings  above  the  telegraph  wires.  Fleet  Street  was  full 
of  journalists  going  to  luncheon  bars  and  various  eating- 
houses,  and  Esther  noticed  how  laggard  was  William's 
walk  by  comparison,  how  his  clothes  hung  loose  about 
him,  and  that  the  sharp  air  was  at  work  on  his  lungs, 
making  him  cough.  She  asked  him  to  button  himself  up 
more  closely. 

"  Is  not  that  old  John's  wife  ?"  Esther  said. 

"Yes,  that's  her,"  said  William.  "She'd  have  seen  us 
if  that  cove  hadn't  given  her  the  shilling.  Lord,  I  didn't 
think  they  was  as  badly  ofl"  as  that.     Did  you  ever  see 


ESTHER  WATERS  349 

such  rags  ?  and  that  thick  leg  wrapped  up  in  that  awful 
stocking." 

The  morning  had  been  full  of  sadness,  and  Mrs. 
Randal's  wandering  rags  had  seemed  to  Esther  like  a 
sign.  She  grew  frightened,  as  thd  cattle  do  in  the 
fields  when  the  sky  darkens  and  the  storm  draws  near. 
She  suddenly  remembered  Mrs.  Barfield,  and  she  heard 
her  telling  her  of  the  unhappiness  that  she  had  seen  come 
from  betting.  Where  was  Mrs.  Barfield.''  Should  she 
ever  see  her  again  ?  Mr.  Barfield  was  dead.  Miss  May 
was  forced  to  live  abroad  for  the  sake  of  her  health  ;  all 
that  time  of  long  ago  was  over  and  done  with.  Some 
words  that  Mrs.  Barfield  had  said  came  back  to  her ;  she 
had  never  quite  understood  them,  but  she  had  never  quite 
forgotten  them  ;  they  seemed  to  chime  through  her  life. 
'^  My  girl,"  Mrs.  Barfield  had  said,  "  I  am  more  than 
twenty  years  older  than  you,  and  I  assure  you  that  time 
has  passed  like  a  little  dream ;  life  is  nothing.  We  must 
think  of  what  comes  after. " 

"  Cheer  up,  old  girl ;  eighteen  months  is  a  long  while,  but 
it  ain't  a  lifetime.  She'll  get  through  it  all  right ;  and  when 
she  comes  out  we'll  try  to  see  what  we  can  do  for  her." 

William's  voice  startled  Esther  from  the  depth  of  her 
dream  ;  she  looked  at  him  vaguely,  and  he  saw  that  she 
had  been  thinking  of  something  different  from  what  he  had 
suspected.  "  I  thought  it  was  on  account  of  Sarah  that 
you  was  looking  so  sad." 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  I  was  not  thinking  of  Sarah." 

Then,  taking  it  for  granted  that  she  was  thinking  of 
the  wickedness  of  betting,  his  face  darkened.  It  was 
aggravating  to  have  a  wife  who  was  always  troubling 
about  things  that  couldn't  be  helped. 

The  first  person  they  saw  on  entering  the  bar  was  old 
John  ;  and  he  sat  in  the  corner  of  the  bar  on  a  high  stool, 
his  grey,  death-like  face  sunk  in  the  old  unstarched  shirt 


350  ESTHER  WATERS 

collar.  The  thin,  wrinkled  throat  was  hidden  with  the 
remains  of  a  cravat ;  it  was  passed  twice  round,  and  tied 
according  to  the  fashion  of  fifty  years  ago.  His  boots 
were  broken ;  the  trousers,  a  grey,  dirty  brown,  were  torn 
as  high  up  as  the  ankle ;  they  had  been  mended  and  the 
patches  hardly  held  together ;  the  frock-coat,  green  with 
age,  with  huge  flaps  over  the  pockets,  frayed  and  torn, 
and  many  sizes  too  large,  hung  upon  his  starveling  body. 
He  seemed  very  feeble,  and  there  was  neither  light  nor 
expression  in  his  glassy,  watery  eyes. 

"  Eighteen  months  ;  a  devil  of  a  stiff  sentence  for  a  first 
offence,"  said  William. 

"  I  just  dropped  in.  Charles  said  you'd  sure  to  be  back. 
You'rfe  later  than  I  expected." 

'*  We  stopped  to  have  a  bit  of  lunch.  But  you  heard 
what  I  said.     She  got  eighteen  months.*' 

"  Who  got  eighteen  months  ?" 

"Sarah." 

"Ah,  Sarah.  She  was  tried  to-day.  So  she  got 
eighteen  months." 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  Wake  up ;  you're  half  asleep. 
What  will  you  have  to  drink  ?" 

"  A  glass  of  milk,  if  you've  got  such  a  thing." 

"  Glass  of  milk !  What  is  it,  old  man — not  feeling 
well!" 

"  Not  very  well.     The  fact  is,  I'm  starving." 

"  Starving !  Then  come  into  the  parlour  and  have 
something  to  eat.     Why  didn't  you  say  so  before  ?" 

"I  didn't  like  to." 

He  led  the  old  chap  into  the  parlour  and  gave  him  a 
chair.  "  Didn't  like  to  tell  me  that  you  was  as  hard  up  as 
all  that  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  You  didn't  use  to  mind 
coming  round  for  half  a  quid." 

"  That  was  to  back  a  horse  ;  but  I  didn't  like  coming  to 
ask  for  food — excuse  me,  I'm  too  weak  to  speak  much." 


ESTHER  WATERS  35 1 

When  old  John  had  eaten^  William  asked  how  it  was 
that  things  had  gone  so  badly  with  him. 

"I've  had  terrible  bad  luck  lately^  can't  get  on  a  winner 
nohow.  I  have  backed  'orses  that  'as  been  tried  to  win 
with  two  stone  more  on  their  backs  than  they  had  to  carry, 
but  just  because  I  was  on  them  they  didn't  win.  I  don't 
know  how  many  half-crowns  I've  had  on  first  favourites. 
Then  I  tried  the  second  favourites,  but  they  gave  way  to 
outsiders  or  the  first  favourites  when  I  took  to  backing 
them.  Stack's  tips  and  Ketley's  omens  was  all  the  same 
as  far  as  I  was  concerned.  It's  a  poor  business  when  you're 
out  of  luck." 

"  It  is  giving  way  to  fancy  that  does  for  the  backers. 
The  bookmaker's  advantage  is  that  he  bets  on  principle 
and  not  on  fancy." 

Old  John  told  how  unlucky  he  had  been  in  business. 
He  had  been  dismissed  from  his  employment  in  the 
restaurant,  not  from  any  fault  of  his  own — he  had  done  his 
work  well.  "  But  they  don't  like  old  waiters  ;  there's 
always  a  lot  of  young  Germans  about,  and  customers  said  I 
smelt  bad.  I  suppose  it  was  my  clothes  and  want  of  con- 
venience at  home  for  keeping  one's  self  tidy.  W^e've  been 
so  hard  up  to  pay  the  three  and  sixpence  rent  which  we've 
owed,  that  the  black  coat  and  weskit  had  to  go  to  the 
pawnshop,  so  even  if  I  did  meet  with  a  job  in  the 
Exhibition  places,  where  they  ain't  so  particular  about 
yer  age,  I  shouldn't  be  able  to  take  it.  It's  terrible  to 
think  that  I  should  have  to  come  to  this  and  after  having 
worked  round  the  table  this  forty  years,  fifty  pounds  a 
year  and  all  found,  and  accustomed  always  to  a  big  footman 
and  page-boy  under  me.  But  there's  plenty  more  like  me. 
It's  a  poor  game.  You're  well  out  of  it.  I  suppose  the 
end  of  it  will  be  the  work 'us.     I'm  pretty  well  wore  out, 

and " 

The  old  man's  voice  died  away.     He  made  no  allusion  to 


352  ESTHER  WATERS 

his  wife.  His  dislike  to  speak  of  her  was  part  and  parcel 
of  his  disUke  to  speak  of  his  private  affairs.  The  conversa- 
tion then  turned  on  Sarah,  and  WiUiam  spoke  of  how  the 
judge's  remarks  would  put  the  police  on  the  watch,  and 
how  difficult  it  would  be  to  continue  his  betting  business 
without  being  found  out. 

''  There's  no  doubt  that  it  is  most  unfortunate/'  said 
old  John.  "  The  only  thing  for  you  to  do  is  to  be  very 
particular  about  yer  introductions,  and  to  refuse  to  bet  with 
all  who  haven't  been  properly  introduced." 

"  Or  to  give  up  betting  altogether,"  said  Esther. 

''Give  up  betting  altogether!"  William  answered,  his 
face  flushed,  and  he  gradually  worked  himself  into  a 
passion.  "  I  give  you  a  good  'ome,  don't  I  ?  You  want 
for  nothing,  do  yer  ?  Well,  that  being  so,  I  think  you 
might  keep  your  nose  out  of  your  husband's  business. 
There's  plenty  of  prayer-meetings  where  you  can  go 
preaching  if  you  like." 

William  would  have  said  a  good  deal  more,  but  his 
anger  brought  on  a  fit  of  coughing.  Esther  looked  at 
him  contemptuously,  and  without  answering  she  walked 
into  the  bar. 

''  That's  a  bad  cough  of  yours,"  said  old  John. 

"  Yes,"  said  William,  and  he  drank  a  little  water  to  pass 
it  off.  "  I  must  see  the  doctor  about  it.  It  makes  one 
that  irritable.  The  missis  is  in  a  pretty  temper,  ain't 
she?" 

Old  John  did  not  reply ;  it  was  not  his  habit  to  notice 
domestic  differences  of  opinion,  especially  those  in  which 
women  had  a  share — queer  cattle  that  he  knew  nothing 
about.  The  men  talked  for  a  long  time  regarding  the 
danger  the  judge's  remarks  had  brought  the  house  into  ; 
they  considered  all  the  circumstances  of  the  case,  and 
when  old  John  rose  to  go  William  summed  up  the  situation 
in  these  few  words  ; 


ESTHER  WATERS  353 

^'  Bet  I  must,  if  I'm  to  get  my  living.  The  only  thing  I 
can  do  is  to  be  careful  not  to  bet  with  strangers." 

"  I  don't  see  how  they  can  do  nothing  to  you  if  yer  makes 
that  yer  principle  and  sticks  to  it,"  said  old  John,  and  he 
put  on  the  huge-rimmed,  greasy  hat,  three  sizes  too  large 
for  him.  "^  A  pathetic  old  story,"  William  said  to  himself. 
^'But  I  daresay  he's  right;"  and  for  several  months 
William  refused  over  and  over  again  to  make  bets  with 
comparative  strangers,  but  the  day  came  when  his  principle 
relaxed,  and  he  took  the  money  of  a  man  who  he  thought  '^ 
was  all  right.  It  was  done  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  ^  '"'^ 
but  the  two  half-crowns  wrapped  up  in  paper,  with  the 
name  of  the  horse  written  on  the  paper,  had  hardly  gone 
into  the  drawer  than  he  felt  that  he  had  done  wrong. 
He  couldn't  tell  why,  but  the  feeling  came  across  him 
that  he  had  done  wrong  in  taking  the  man's  money — a 
tall,  clean-shaven  man  dressed  in  broadcloth.  It  was  too 
late  to  draw  back.  The  man  had  finished  his  beer  and 
had  left  the  bar,  which  in  itself  was  suspicious. 

Three  days  afterwards,  between  twelve  and  one,  just  the 
busiest  time,  when  the  bar  was  full  of  people,  there  came 
a  cry  of  "  Police  !"  An  effort  was  made  to  hide  the  betting 
plant ;  a  rush  was  made  for  the  doors.  It  was  all  too  late  ; 
the  sergeant  and  a  constable  ordered  that  no  one  was  to 
leave  the  house  ;  other  police  were  outside.  The  names 
and  addresses  of  all  present  were  taken  down  ;  search  was 
made,  and  the  packets  of  money  and  the  betting  books 
were  discovered.  Then  they  all  had  to  go  to  Marlborough 
Street. 

XL. 

Next  day  the  following  account  was  given  in  most  of  the 
daily  papers  :  "  Raid  on  a  betting  man  in  the  West  End. 
William  Latch,  35,  landlord  of  the  '  King's  Head,'  Dean 
Street,  Soho,  was  charged  that  he,  being  a  licensed  person. 


354  ESTHER  WATERS 

did  keep  and  use  his  public-house  for  the  purpose  of 
betting  with  persons  resorting  thereto.  Thomas  WilUam, 
35,  bilhard  marker^  Gaulden  Street,  Battersea;  Arthur 
Henry  Parsons,  tio,  waiter,  Northumberland  Street, 
Marylebone ;  Joseph  Stack,  52,  gentleman ;  Harold 
Journeyman,  45,  gentleman.  High  Street,  Norwood ; 
Philip  Hutchinson,  grocer,  Bisey  Road,  Fulham ;  William 
Tann,  piano-tuner.  Standard  Street,  Soho  ;  Charles  Ketley, 
butterman.  Green  Street,  Soho ;  John  Randal,  Frith 
Street,  Soho  ;  Charles  Muller,  44,  tailor,  Marylebone  Lane  ; 
Arthur  Bartram,  stationer.  East  Street  Buildings ;  William 
Burton,  harness-maker,  Blue  Lion  Street,  Bond  Street, 
were  charged  with  using  the  '  King's  Head '  for  the 
purpose  of  betting.  Evidence  was  given  by  the  police 
regarding  the  room  upstairs,  where  a  good  deal  of  drinking 
went  on  after  hours.  There  had  been  cases  of  disorder, 
and  the  magistrate  unfortunately  remembered  that  a 
servant-girl,  who  had  pledged  her  master's  plate  to  obtain 
money  to  back  a  horse,  had  been  arrested  in  the  '  King's 
Head.'  Taking  these  facts  into  consideration,  it  seemed 
to  him  that  he  could  not  do  less  than  inflict  a  fine  of  c£lOO. 
The  men  who  were  found  in  Latch's  house  he  ordered  to 
be  bound  over." 

Who  had  first  given  information  ?  That  was  the 
question.  Old  John  sat  smoking  in  his  corner.  Journey- 
man leaned  against  the  yellow-painted  partition,  his  legs 
thrust  out.  Stack  stood  square,  his  dark,  crimson-tinted 
skin  contrasting  with  sallow-faced  little  Ketley. 

"  Don't  the  omens  throw  no  light  on  this  'ere  matter  ?" 
said  Journeyman. 

Ketley  started  from  his  reverie. 

"Ah,"  said  William,  ^Mf  I  only  knew  who  the  b 

was." 

"Ain't  you  got  no  idea  of  any  sort  ?"  said  Stack. 

"  There  was  a  Salvation  chap  who  came  in  some  months, 


ESTHER  WATERS  355 

ago  and  told  my  wife  that  the  betting  was  corrupting  the 
neighbourhood — that  it  would  have  to  be  put  a  stop  to. 
It  may  'ave  been  'e." 

"  You  don't  ask  no  one  to  bet  with  you.  They  does  as 
they  like." 

"  Does  as  they  like !  No  one  does  that  nowadays. 
There's  a  temperance  party,  a  purity  party,  and  a  hanti- 
gambling  party,  and  what  they  is  working  for  is  just  to 
stop  folk  from  doing  as  they  like." 

"That's  it,"  said  Journeyman. 

Stack  raised  his  glass  to  his  lips  and  said,  "  Here's 
luck." 

"  There's  not  much  of  that  about,"  said  William.  "We 
seem  to  be  losing  all  round.  I'd  like  to  know  where  the 
money  goes.  I  think  it  is  the  'ouse  ;  it's  gone  unlucky, 
and  I'm  thinking  of  clearing  out." 

"  We  may  live  in  a  'ouse  a  long  while  before  we  find 
what  its  luck  really  is,"  said  Ketley.  "  I've  been  in  my 
old  'ouse  these  twenty  years,  and  it  ain't  nothing  like  what 
I  thought  it." 

*^You  are  that  superstitious,"  said  Journeyman.  "If 
there  was  anything  the  matter  with  the  'ouse  you'd've 
know'd  it  before  now." 

"  Ain't  you  doing  the  trade  you  was  .^"  said  Stack. 

"  No,  my  butter  and  Ggg  trade  have  fallen  dreadful 
lately." 

The  conversation  paused.  It  was  Stack  who  broke  the 
silence. 

"  Do  you  intend  to  do  no  more  betting  'ere  ?"  he  asked. 

"  What,  after  being  fined  £100  ?  You  'eard  the  way  he 
went  on  about  Sarah,  and  all  on  account  of  her  being  took 
here.     I  think  he  might  have  left  Sarah  out." 

"  It  warn't  for  betting  she  took  the  plate,"  said  Journey- 
man ;  ''it  was  'cause  her  chap  said  if  she  did  he'd  marry 
her." 


356  ESTHER  WATERS 

"  I  wonder  you  ever  left  the  course/'  said  Stack. 

"  It  was  on  account  of  my  'ealth.  I  caught  a  dreadful 
cold  at  Kempton,  standing  about  in  the  mud.  I've  never 
quite  got  over  that  cold." 

"  I  remember,"  said  Ketley  ;  ''  you  couldn't  speak  above 
a  whisper  for  two  months." 

"  Two  months  !  more  like  three." 
I  /     "  Fourteenweeks/'  said  Esther. 

,  /  She  was  in  favour  of  disposing  of  the  house  and  going  to 
"^  live  in  the  country.  But  it  was  soon  found  that  the  con- 
viction for  keeping  a  betting-house  had  spoiled  their 
chance  of  an  advantageous  sale.  If,  however,  the  licence 
were  renewed  next  year,  and  the  business  did  not  in  the 
meantime  decline,  they  would  be  in  a  position  to  obtain 
better  terms.  So  all  their  energies  should  be  devoted  to 
the  improvement  of  their  business.  Esther  engaged 
another  servant,  and  she  provided  the  best  meat  and 
vegetables  that  money  could  buy ;  William  ordered  beer 
and  spirits  of  a  quality  that  could  be  procured  nowhere 
else  in  the  neighbourhood  ;  but  all  to  no  purpose.  As 
soon  as  it  became  known  that  it  was  no  longer  possible  to 
pass  half-a-crown  or  a  shilling  wrapped  up  in  a  piece  ot 
paper  across  the  bar,  their  custom  began  to  decline. 

At  last  William  could  stand  it  no  longer,  and  he  obtained 
his  wife's  permission  to  once  more  begin  book-making  on 
the  course.  His  health  had  begun  to  improve  with  the 
spring  weather,  and  there  was  no  use  keeping  him  at  home 
eating  his  heart  out  with  vexation  because  they  were  doing 
no  business.  So  did  Esther  reason,  and  it  reminded  her  of 
old  times  when  he  came  back  with  his  race-glasses  slung 
round  his  shoulder.  "  Favourites  all  beaten  to-day  ;  what 
have  you  got  for  me  to  eat,  old  girl  ?"  Esther  forgot  her 
dislike  of  racing  in  the  joy  of  seeing  her  husband  happy. 
If  he'd  only  pick  up  a  bit  of  flesh  !  but  he  seemed  to  get 


ESTHER  WATERS  S57 

thinner  and  thinner,  and  his  food  didn't  seem  to  do  him 
any  good. 

One  day  he  came  home  complaining  that  the  ring  was 
six  inches  of  soft  mud ;  he  was  wet  to  the  skin,  and  he  sat 
shivering  the  whole  evening,  with  the  sensation  of  a  long 
illness  upon  him.  His  voice  seemed  as  if  it  would  never 
return  to  him  again,  and  there  was  little  or  no  occupation 
for  him  in  the  bar.  Instead  of  laying  he  began  to  take 
the  odds.  He  backed  a  few  winners,  it  is  true  ;  but  they 
could  not  rely  on  that.  Most  of  their  trade  had  slipped 
from  them,  so  it  did  not  much  matter  to  them  if  they 
were  found  out.  He  might  as  well  be  hung  for  an  old 
sheep  as  a  lamb,  and  surreptitiously  at  first,  and  then 
more  openly,  he  began  to  take  money  across  the  bar,  and 
with  every  shilling  he  took  for  a  bet  another  shilling  was 
spent  in  drink.  Custom  came  back  in  ripples,  and  then 
in  stronger  waves,  until  once  again  the  bar  of  the  "  King's 
Head  "  was  full  to  overflowing.  Another  conviction  meant 
ruin,  but  they  must  risk  it,  so  said  William ;  and  Esther, 
like  a  good  wife,  acquiesced  in  her  husband's  decision. 
But  he  took  money  only  from  those  whom  he  was  quite 
sure  of  He  required  an  introduction,  and  was  careful  to 
make  inquiries  concerning  every  new  backer.  ''  In  this 
way,"  he  said  to  Ketley,  "so  long  as  one  is  content  to 
bet  on  a  small  scale,  I  think  it  can  be  kept  dark ;  but  if 
you  try  to  extend  your  connection  you're  bound  to  come 
across  a  wrong  'im  sooner  or  later.  It  was  that  room 
upstairs  that  did  for  me." 

''  I  never  did  think  much  of  that  room  upstairs,"  said 
Ketley.  "  There  was  a  something  about  it  that  I  didn't 
like.  Be  sure  you  never  bet  in  that  jug  and  bottle  bar, 
whatever  you  do.  There's  just  the  same  luck  in  that 
'ere  bar  there  as  in  the  room  upstairs.  Haven't  you 
noticed  it  ?" 


358  ESTHER  WATERS 

"  Can't  say  I  'ave,  nor  am  I  sure  that  I  know  exactly 
what  you  mean." 

"  If  you  don't  see  it,  you  don't  see  it ;  but  it's  plain 
enough  to  me,  and  don't  you  bet  with  nobody  standing  in 
that  bar.     I  wouldn't  go  in  there  for  a  sovereign." 

William  laughed.  He  thought  at  first  that  Ketley  was 
joking,  but  he  soon  saw  that  Ketley  regarded  the  jug  and 
bottle  entrance  with  real  suspicion.  When  pressed  to 
speak  his  mind,  he  told  Journeyman  that  it  wasn't  that  he 
was  afraid  of  the  place,  he  merely  didn't  like  it.  "  There's 
some  places  that  you  likes  better  than  others,  ain't  they  ?" 
Journeyman  was  obliged  to  confess  that  there  were. 

'^Well,  then,  that's  one  of  the  places  I  don't  like. 
Don't  you  hear  a  voice  talking  there,  a  soft,  low  voice, 
with  a  bit  of  a  jeer  in  it  ?" 

On  another  occasion  he  shaded  his  eyes  and  peered 
curiously  into  the  left-hand  corner. 

"What  are  you  looking  at  ?"  asked  Journeyman. 
^^  At  nothing  that  you  can  see,"  Ketley  answered;  and 
he  drank  his  whisky  as  if  lost  in  consideration  of  grave 
and  difficult  things.  A  few  weeks  later  they  noticed  that 
he  always  got  as  far  from  the  jug  and  bottle  entrance  as 
possible,  and  he  was  afflicted  with  a  long  story  concerning 
a  danger  that  awaited  him.  "  He's  waiting ;  but  nothing 
will  happen  if  I  don't  go  in  there.  He  can't  follow  me ; 
he  is  waiting  for  me  to  go  to  him." 

"Then  keep  out  of  his  way,"  said  Journeyman.  "You 
might  ask  your  bloody  friend  if  he  can  tell  us  anything 
about  the  Leger." 

"I'm  trying  to  keep  out  of  his  way,  but  he's  always 
watching  and  a-beckoning  of  me." 

"Can  you  see  him  now.'^"  asked  Stack. 
"  Yes,"  said  Ketley ;  "he's  a-sitting  there,  and  he  seems 
to  say  that  if  I  don't  come  to  him  worse  will  happen." 
"Don't   say  nothing   to    him,"  William    whispered    to 


ESTHER  WATERS  359 

Journeyman.  ^"I  don't  think  he's  quite  right  in  'is  'ead  ; 
he's  been  losing  a  lot  lately." 

One  day  Journeyman  was  surprised  to  see  Ketley  sitting 
quite  composedly  in  the  jug  and  bottle  bar. 

''  He  got  me  at  last ;  I  had  to  go^  the  whispering  got  so 
loud  in  my  head  as  I  was  a-coming  down  the  street.  I 
tried  to  get  out  into  the  middle  of  the  street^  but  a  drunken 
chap  pushed  me  across  the  pavement^  and  he  was  at  the 
door  waiting,  and  he  said,  '  Now,  you'd  better  come  in ; 
you  know  what  will  happen  if  you  don't.'  " 

'^  Don't  talk  rot,  old  pal ;  come  round  and  have  a  drink 
with  Qs." 

"  I  can't  just  at  present — I  may  later  on." 

^'  What  do  he  mean  .'*"  said  Stack. 

^^I^ord,  I  don't  know,"  said  Journeyman.  "It's  only 
his  wandering  talk." 

They  tried  to  discuss  the  chances  of  the  various  horses 
they  were  interested  in,  but  they  could  not  detach  their 
thoughts  from  Ketley,  and  their  eyes  went  back  to  the 
queer  little  sallow-faced  man  who  sat  on  a  high  stool  in 
the  adjoining  bar  paring  his  nails. 

They  felt  something  was  going  to  happen,  and  before 
they  could  say  the  word  he  had  plunged  the  knife  deep 
into  his  neck,  and  had  fallen  heavily  on  the  floor. 
William  vaulted  over  the  counter.  As  he  did  so  he  felt 
something  break  in  his  throat,  and  when  Stack  and 
Journeyman  came  to  his  assistance  he  was  almost  as 
white  as  the  corpse  at  his  feet.  Blood  flowed  from  his 
mouth  and  from  Ketley's  neck  in  a  deep  stream  that 
swelled  into  a  great  pool  and  thickened  on  the  sawdust. 

"  It  was  jumping  over  that  bar,"  William  replied,  faintly. 

"  I'll  see  to  my  husband,"  said  Esther. 

A  rush  of  blood  cut  short  his  words,  and,  leaning  on 
his  wife,  he  walked  feebly  round  into  the  back  parlour. 
Esther  rang  the  bell  violently. 


360  ESTHER  WATERS 

"Go  round  at  once  to  Doctor  Green/'  she  said;  "and 
if  he  isn't  in  inquire  which  is  the  nearest.  Don't  come 
back  without  a  doctor." 

WiUiam  had  broken  a  small  blood-vessel,  and  the  doctor 
said  he  would  have  to  be  very  careful  for  a  long  time.  It 
was  likely  to  prove  a  long  case.  But  Ketley  had  severed 
the  jugular  at  one  swift,  keen  stroke,  and  had  died  almost 
instantly.  Of  course  there  was  an  inquest,  and  the  coroner 
asked  many  questions  regarding  the  habits  of  the  deceased. 
Mrs.  Ketley  was  one  of  the  witnesses  called,  and  she 
deposed  that  he  had  lost  a  great  deal  of  money  lately  in 
betting,  and  that  he  went  to  the  "  King's  Head  "  for  the 
purpose  of  betting.  The  police  deposed  that  the  landlord 
of  the  "  King's  Head  "  had  been  fined  a  hundred  pounds 
for  keeping  a  betting-house,  and  the  foreman  of  the  jury 
remarked  that  betting-houses  were  the  ruin  of  the  poorer 
classes,  and  that  they  ought  to  be  put  a  stop  to.  The 
coroner  added  that  such  places  as  the  "King's  Head" 
should  not  be  licensed.  That  was  the  simplest  and  most 
effectual  way  of  dealing  with  the  nuisance. 

"There  never  was  no  luck  about  this  house,"  said 
William,  "  and  what  there  was  has  left  us ;  in  three 
months'  time  we  shall  be  turned  out  of  it  neck  and  crop. 
Another  conviction  w^ould  mean  a  fine  of  a  couple  of 
hundred,  or  most  like  three  months,  and  that  would  just 
about  be  the  end  of  me." 

"They'll  never  license  us  again,"  said  Esther,  "and  the 
boy's  at  school  and  doing  so  well." 

"  I'm  sorry,  Esther,  to  have  brought  this  trouble  on 
you.  We  must  get  the  best  price  we  can  for  the  'ouse. 
I  may  be  lucky  enough  to  back  a  few  winners.  That's  all 
there  is  to  be  said — the  'ouse  was  always  an  unlucky  one. 
I  hate  the  place,  and  shall  be  glad  to  get  out  of  it." 

Esther  sighed.  She  didn't  like  to  hear  the  house 
spoken  ill  of,  and  after  so  many  years  it  did  seem  a  shame. 


ESTHER  WATERS  36\ 


XLI. 


Esther  kept  William  within  doors  during  the  winter 
months.  If  his  health  did  not  improve  it  got  no  worse, 
and  she  had  begun  to  hope  that  the  breakage  of  the 
blood-vessel  did  not  mean  lung  disease.  But  the  harsh 
winds  of  spring  did  not  suit  him,  and  there  was  business 
with  his  lawyer  to  which  he  was  obliged  to  attend.  A 
determined  set  was  going  to  be  made  against  the  renewal 
of  his  licence,  and  he  was  determined  to  defeat  his 
opponents.  Counsel  was  instructed,  and  a  great  deal  of 
money  was  spent  on  the  case.  But  the  licence  was 
nevertheless  refused,  and  the  north-east  wind  seemed 
resolved  on  William's  death,  and  with  a  sick  husband  on 
her  hands,  and  all  the  money  they  had  invested  in  the 
house  lost,  Esther  began  to  make  preparations  for  moving. 
William  had  proved  a  kind  husband,  and  in  the  seven 
years  she  had  spent  in  the  "  King's  Head  "  there  had 
been  some  enjoyment  of  life.  She  couldn't  say  that  she 
had  been  unhappy.  She  had  always  disapproved  of  the 
betting.  They  had  tried  to  do  without  it.  There  was  a 
great  deal  in  life  which  one  couldn't  approve  of  But 
Ketley  had  never  been  very  right  in  his  head,  and  Sarah's 
misfortune  had  had  very  little  to  do  with  the  "King's 
Head."  They  had  all  tried  to  keep  her  from  that  man; 
it  was  her  own  fault.  There  were  worse  places  than  the 
"  King's  Head."  It  wasn't  for  her  to  abuse  it.  She  had 
lived  there  seven  years ;  she  had  seen  her  boy  growing 
up — he  was  almost  a  young  man  now,  and  had  had  the 
best  education.  That  much  good  the  "  King's  Head  "  had 
done.  But  perhaps  it  was  no  longer  suited  to  William's 
health.  The  betting,  she  was  tired  thinking  about  that ; 
and  that  constant  nipping,  it  was  impossible  for  him  to 


362  ESTHER  WATERS 

keep  from  it  with  every  one  asking  him  to  drink  with 
them.     A  look  of  fear  and  distress  passed  across  her  face. 

She  was  rolling  up  a  pair  of  curtains,  and  she  stopped 
for  a  moment,  for  she  did  not  know  how  they  were  to  live, 
that  was  the  worst  of  it.  If  they  only  had  back  the 
money  they  had  sunk  in  the  house  she  would  not  so  much 
mind.  Seven  years^  of  hard  work — for  she  had  worked 
hard — and  nothing  to  showfor  it.  If  she  had  been  doing 
the  grand  lady  all  the  time  it  would  have  been  no  worse. 
Horses  had  won  and  horses  had  lost  —  a  great  deal  of 
trouble  and  fuss  and  nothing  to  show  for  it.  That  was 
what  stuck  in  her  throat.  Nothing  to  show  for  it.  She 
looked  round  the  dismantled~waTTs7~3rrd"~descended  the 
vacant  staircase.  She  would  never  serve  another  pint  of 
beer  in  that  bar.  What  a  strong,  big  fellow  he  was  when 
she  first  went  to  live  with  him !  He  was  sadly  changed. 
Would  she  ever  see  him  strong  and  well  again  ?  She 
remembered  that  he  had  told  her  he  was  worth  nearly 
.£3,000.  She  hadn't  brought  him  luck.  He  wasn't  worth 
anything  like  that  to-day. 

'^  How  much  have  we  in  the  bank,  dear  ?'* 
\^  ''A  bit  over  six  hundred  pounds.     I  was  reckoning  of 
it  up  yesterday.     But  what   do   you  want  to  know  for.'' 
To  remind  me  that  I've  been  losing.     Well,  1  have  been 
losing.      I  hope  you're  satisfied." 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  of  such  a  thing." 

"  Yes,  you  was,  there's  no  use  saying  you  wasn't.     It 
•ain't  my  fault  if  the  'orses  don't  win  ;  I  do  the  best  I  can." 

She  did  not  answer  him.  Then  he  said,  ''  It's  my  'ealth 
that  makes  me  irritable,  dear  ;  you  aren't  angry,  are  you  ?" 

"  No,  dear,  I  know  you  don't  mean  it,  and  I  don't  pay 
no  attention  to  it."  She  spoke  so  gently  that  he  looked 
at  her  surprised,  for  he  knew  her  quick  temper,  and  he 
said,  "  You're  the  best  wife  a  man  ever  had." 

"  No  I'm  not.  Bill,  but  I  tries  to  do  my  best" 


ESTHER  WATERS  S63 

The  spring  was  the  harshest  ever  known,  and  his  cough 
grew  worse  and  the  blood- spitting  returned.  Esther  grew 
seriously  alarmed.  Their  doctor  spoke  of  Brompton 
Hospital,  and  she  insisted  on  his  going  there  to  be 
examined.  William  would  not  have  her  come  with  him ; 
and  she  did  not  press  the  point,  fearing  to  irritate  him, 
but  sat  at  home  waiting  anxiously  for  him  to  return, 
hoping  against  hope,  for  their  doctor  had  told  her  that  he 
feared  very  long  trouble.  And  she  could  tell  from  his 
face  and  manner  that  he  had  bad  news  for  her.  All  her 
strength  left  her,  but  she  conquered  her  weakness  and  said : 

"Now,  tell  me  what  they  said.  I've  a  right  to  know; 
I  want  to  know." 

"  They  said  it  was  consumption." 

"  Oh,  did  they  say  that  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  that  don't  mean  that  I'm  going  to  die. 
They  said  they  hoped  they  could  patch  me  up ;  people 
often  live  for  years  with  only  half  a  lung,  and  it  is  only  the 
left  one  that's  gone." 

He  coughed  slightly  and  wiped  the  blood  from  his  lips. 
Esther  was  quite  overcome. 

"Now,  don't  look  like  that,"  he  said,  "  or  I  shall  fancy 
I'm  going  to  die  to-morrow." 

"  They  said  they  thought  that  they  could  patch  you 
up?" 

"  Yes  ;  they  said  I  might  go  on  a  long  while  yet,  but 
that  I  would  never  be  the  man  I  was." 

This  was  so  plain  that  she  could  not  check  a  look  of 
pity. 

"If  you're  going  to  look  at  me  like  that  I'd  sooner  go 
into  the  hospital  at  once.  It  ain't  the  cheerfuUest  of 
places,  but  it  will  be  better  than  here." 

"  I'm  sorry  it  was  consumption.  But  if  they  said  they 
could  patch  you  up,  it  will  be  all  right.  It  was  a  great 
deal  for  them  to  say," 


364  ESTHER  WATERS 

Her  duty  was  to  overcome  her  grief  and  speak  as  if  the 
doctors  had  told  him  that  there  was  nothing  the  matter 
that  a  little  careful  nursing  would  fail  to  put  right. 
William  had  faith  in  the  w^arm  weather,  and  she  resolved 
to  put  her  trust  in  it.  It  was  hard  to  see  him  wasting 
away  before  her  eyes  and  keep  cheerful  looks  in  her  face 
and  an  accent  of  cheerfulness  in  her  voice.  The  sunshine 
which  had  come  at  last  seemed  to  suck  up  all  the  life 
that  was  in  him  ;  he  grew  paler,  and  withered  like  a  plant. 
Then  ill-luck  seemed  to  have  joined  in  the  hunt ;  he 
could  not  "  touch  "  a  winner,  and  their  fortune  drained 
away  with  his  life.  Favourites  and  outsiders — it  mattered 
not  ;  whatever  he  backed  lost ;  and  Esther  dreaded  the 
cry  «^^Win-ner,  all  the  win-ners  !"  He  sat  on  the  little 
balcony  in  the  sunny  evenings  looking  down  the  back 
street  for  the  boy  to  appear  with  the  ^^ special."  Then 
she  had  to  go  and  fetch  the  paper.  On  the  rare  occasions 
when  he  won,  the  spectacle  was  even  more  painful.  He 
brightened  up,  his  thin  arm  and  hand  moved  nervously, 
and  he  began  to  make  projects  and  indulge  in  hopes  which 
she  knew  were  vain. 

She  insisted,  however,  on  his  taking  regularly  the 
medicine  they  gave  him  at  the  hospital,  and  this  was 
difficult  to  do.  For  his  irritability  increased  in  measure 
as  he  perceived  the  medicine  was  doing  him  no  good ;  he 
found  fault  with  the  doctors,  railed  against  them  unjustly, 
and  all  the  while  the  little  cough  continued,  and  the 
blood-spitting  returned  at  the  end  of  cruel  intervals,  when 
he  had  begun  to  hope  that  at  least  that  trouble  was  done 
with.  One  morning  he  told  his  wife  that  he  was  going 
to  ask  the  doctors  to  examine  him  again.  They  had 
spoken  of  patching  up  ;  but  he  wanted  to  know  whether 
he  was  going  to  live  or  die.  There  was  a  certain  relief 
in  hearing  him  speak  so  plainly  ;  she  had  had  enough  of 
the  torture  of  hope,  and  would  like  to  know  the  worst. 


ESTHER  WATERS  365 

He  liked  better  to  go  to  the  hospital  alone^  but  she  felt 
that  she  could  not  sit  at  home  counting  the  minutes  for 
him  to  return,  and  begged  to  be  allowed  to  go  with  him- 
To  her  surprise,  he  offered  no  opposition.  She  had 
expected  that  her  request  would  bring  about  quite  a  little 
scene,  but  he  had  taken  it  so  much  as  a  matter  of  course 
that  she  should  accompany  him  that  she  was  doubly  glad 
that  she  had  proposed  to  go  with  him  ;  if  she  hadn't  he 
might  have  accused  her  of  neglecting  him.  She  put  on 
her  hat — the  day  was  too  hot  for  a  jacket,  it  was  the 
beginning  of  August,  and  the  poor,  dry,  dusty  air  that 
remained  after  the  season  made  William  cough,  and  she 
hoped  the  doctors  would  order  him  to  the  seaside.  At 
Hyde  Park  Corner  the  blown  dust  whirled  about  the 
hilltop ;  and  the  wide  pavements  of  the  Brompton  Road, 
and  a  semi-detached  public -house  at  the  cross-roads, 
announced  the  beginning  of  suburban  London  to  the 
Londoner. 

"You  see,"  said  William,  "  where  them  trees  are, 
where  the  road  turns  off  to  the  left.  That  'ouse  is  the 
'  Bell  and  Horns.'  And  that's  the  sort  of  house  I  should 
like  to  see  you  in." 

"  It's  a  pity  we  didn't  buy  it  when  we  had  the  money." 
''  Buy  it !     That  'ouse  is  worth  ten  thousand  pounds  if  it's 
worth  a  penny." 

"  I  was  once  in  a  situation  not  far  from  here." 
Her  first  service  was  with  Mrs.  Dunbar,  in  Sydney 
Street,  and  she  remembered  the  square  church  tower  at 
the  Chelsea  end  ;  a  little  farther  on  there  was  the  Vestry 
Hall  ,in  the  King's  Road,  and  then  Oakley  Street  on  the 
left,  leading  down  to  Battersea.  Mrs.  Dunbar  used  to  go 
to  some  gardens  at  the  end  of  the  King's  Road.  Cremorne 
Gardens,  that  was  the  name  ;  and  she  often  spent  the 
evening  at  the  back  window  watching  the  rockets  go  up. 
The  neighbourhood  came  back  to  her — Palmer  the  butter- 


366  ESTHER  WATERS 

man,  Hyde  the  grocer.  And  everything  was  just  the 
same  ;  not  much  change.  How  many  years  ago  ?  Fifteen 
or  sixteen.  And  so  enwrapped  was  she  in  memories  that 
William  had  to  touch  her.     ''  Here  we  are/'  he  said. 

"So  we  are/'  she  answered,  startled  by  the  familiar 
aspect  of  the  great  red  brick  building,  a  centrepiece  with 
two  wings,  surrounded  by  high  iron  railings  and  lined 
with  gloomy  shrubs.  The  long  straight  walks,  the  dismal 
trees  arow,  where  pale-faced  men  walked  or  rested  feebly, 
had  impressed  themselves  on  her  young  mind — thin, 
patient  men,  pacing  their  sepulchre.  She  used  to  wonder 
who  they  were,  if  they  would  get  well ;  and  then,  with 
sensation  of  lingering  death  in  her  mind,  she  hurried  away 
on  her  errands.  The  low  wooden  yellow-painted  gates 
were  unchanged.  She  had  never  seen  them  open  before, 
and  it  was  new  to  her  to  see  the  gardens  filled  with  bright 
sunshine  and  numerous  visitors.  A  little  yellow  was 
creeping  through  the  leaves,  and  from  time  to  time  a  leaf 
fell  exhausted  from  the  branches. 

William,  who  was  already  familiar  with  the  custom  of 
the  place,  nodded  to  the  porter  and  was  let  pass  without 
question.  He  did  not  turn  to  the  principal  entrance  in  the 
middle  of  the  building,  but  went  towards  a  side  entrance, 
where  the  house  physician  was  standing  talking  with  a 
young  man  whom  Esther  recognized  as  Mr.  Alden.  The 
thought  that  he,  too,  might  be  dying  of  consumption 
crossed  her  mind,  but  his  appearance  and  his  healthy,  hearty 
laugh  reassured  her.  A  stout,  common  girl,  healthy  too,  came 
out  of  the  building  with  a  child,  a  little  thing  of  twelve  or 
thirteen,  with  death  in  her  face.  Mr.  Alden  stopped  her, 
and  in  his  cheerful,  kind  manner  hoped  the  little  one  was 
better.  She  answered  that  she  was.  The  doctor  bade 
him  good-bye  and  beckoned  William  and  Esther  to  follow 
him.  Esther  would  have  liked  to  have  spoken  to  Mr. 
Alden.     But  he   did  not  see  her,   and  she  followed  her 


ESTHER  WATERS  367 

husband,  who  was  talking  with  the  doctor,  through  the 
doorway  into  a  long  passage.  At  the  end  of  the  passage 
there  were  a  number  of  girls  in  print  dresses.  The  gaiety 
of  the  dresses  led  Esther  to  think  that  they  must  be  visitors. 
But  the  little  cough  warned  her  that  death  was  among 
them.  As  she  went  past  she  caught  sight  of  a  wasted 
form  in  a  bath-chair.  Thin  hands  were  laid  on  the  knees, 
on  a  little  handkerchief,  and  there  were  spots  on  the 
whiteness  deeper  than  the  colour  of  the  dress.  They 
passed  down  another  passage,  meeting  a  sister  on  their 
way  ;  pretty  and  discreet  she  was  in  her  black  dress  and 
veil,  and  she  raised  her  eyes,  glancing  affectionately  at  the 
young  doctor.  No  doubt  they  loved  each  other.  The 
eternal  love-story  among  so  much  death  ! 

Esther  wished  to  be  present  at  the  examination,  but  a 
sudden  whim  made  William  say  that  he  would  prefer  to  be 
alone  with  the  doctor,  and  she  returned  to  the  gardens. 
Mr.  Alden  had  not  yet  gone,  and  the  little  girl  she  had 
seen  him  speaking  to  was  sitting  on  a  bench  under  the 
trees,  holding  in  her  hands  a  skein  of  yellow  worsted 
which  her  companion  was  winding  into  a  ball.  Two  other 
young  women  were  with  them,  and  all  four  were  smiling 
and  whispering  and  looking  towards  Mr.  Alden,  seeking 
to  attract  his  attention,  hoping  he  would  come  and  speak 
to  them — ^just  the  natural  desire  of  women  to  please;  and 
moved  by  the  pathos  of  this  poor  coquetting  he  went  to 
them,  and  Esther  could  see  that  they  all  wanted  to  talk 
to  him.  She  too  would  have  liked  to  have  spoken  to  him, 
for  he  was  an  old  friend.  And  she  walked  up  the  grounds, 
intending  to  pass  by  him  as  she  walked  back.  His  back 
was  still  turned  to  her,  and  they  were  all  so  interested 
that  they  gave  no  heed  to  anything  else.  One  of  the 
young  women  had  an  exceedingly  pretty  face — a  small 
oval,  perfectly  snow-w^hite — and  large  blue  eyes  shaded 
with  long  dark  lashes,  a  little  aquiline  nose — cvnd  Esther 


368  ESTHER  WATERS 

heard  her  say,  "  I  should  be  well  enough  if  it  wasn't  for 

the  cough.      It  isn't  no   better  since "     The   cough 

interrupted  the  end  of  the  sentence,  and  affecting  to  mis- 
understand her,  Mr.  Alden  said  : 

"  No  better  than  it  was  a  week  ago." 

"  A  week  ago  !"  said  the  poor  girl.  "  It  is  no  better 
since  Christmas." 

There  was  surprise  in  her  voice ;  the  pity  of  it  took 
Mr.  Alden  in  the  throat,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  that  he 
answered  that  he  hoped  that  the  present  fine  weather 
would  enable  her  to  get  well.  "  Such  weather  as  this,"  he 
said,  ^^is  as  good  as  going  abroad." 

One  of  the  women  had  been  to  Australia  for  her  health, 
and  the  story  of  travel  was  interspersed  by  the  little 
coughs,  terrible  in  their  apparent  insignificance.  But  it 
was  Mr.  Alden  that  the  others  wished  to  hear  speak  ; 
they  knew  all  about  their  companion's  trip  to  Australia, 
and  in  their  impatience  their  eyes  went  towards  Esther. 
So  Mr.  Alden  became  aware  of  a  new  presence,  and  he 
turned. 

"  What !  is  it  you,  Esther  ?" 

^^Yes,  sir." 

"But  there  doesn't  seem  much  the  matter  with  you. 
You're  all  right." 

"  Yes,  I'm  all  right,  sir  ;  it's  my  husband." 

They  walked  a  few  yards  up  the  path. 

"  Your  husband  !     I'm  very  sorry." 

"  He's  been  an  outdoor  patient  for  some  time ;  he's 
being  examined  by  the  doctors  now." 

'^  Whom  did  you  marry,  Esther  .?" 

"  William  Latch,  a  betting  man,  sir." 

"  You  married  a  betting  man,  Esther.  How  strangely 
things  work  out !  I  remember  you  were  engaged  to  a  pious 
young  man,  the  stationer's  foreman.  That  was  when  you 
were  with  Miss  Rice ;  you  know,  I  suppose,  that  she's  dead." 


ESTHER  WATERS  369 

"  No,  sir,  I  didn't  know  it.  I've  had  so  much  trouble 
lately  that  I've  not  been  to  see  her  for  nearly  two  years. 
When  did  she  die,  sir  ?" 

"  About  two  months  ago.  So  you  married  a  betting 
man  !  Miss  Rice  did  say  something  about  it,  but  I  don't 
think  I  understood  that  he  was  a  betting  man ;  I  thought 
he  was  a  publican." 

"  So  he  was,  sir.  We  lost  our  licence  through  the 
betting." 

"  You  say  he's  being  examined  by  the  doctor.  Is  it  a 
bad  case  ?" 

"I  am  afraid  it  is,  sir." 

They  walked  on  in  silence  until  they  reached  the  gate. 

"  To  me  this  place  is  infinitely  pathetic.  That  little 
cough  never  silent  for  long.  Did  you  hear  that  poor  girl 
say  with  surprise  that  her  cough  is  no  better  than  it  was 
last  Christmas .'"' 

^'Yes,  sir.  Poor  girl,  I  don't  think  she's  long  for  this 
world." 

''  But  tell  me  about  your  husband,  Esther,"  he  said,  and 
his  face  filled  with  an  expression  of  true  sympathy. 
"  I  am  a  subscriber,  and  if  your  husband  would  like  to 
become  an  indoor  putient,  I  hope  you'll  let  me  know." 

"  Thank  you,  sir ;  you  was  always  the  kindest,  but 
there's  no  reason  why  I  should  trouble  you.  Some  friends 
of  ours  have  already  recommended  him,  and  it  only  rests 
with  himself  to  remain  out  or  go  in." 

He  pulled  out  his  watch  and  said,  "  I  am  sorry  to  have 
met  you  in  such  sad  circumstances,  but  I  am  glad  to  have 
seen  you.  It  must  be  seven  years  or  more  since  you  left 
Miss  Rice.  You  haven't  changed  much ;  you  keep  your 
good  looks." 

"Oh,  sir." 

He  laughed  at  her  embarrassment  and  walked  across  the 
road  hailing  a  hansom  just  as  he  used  to  in    old   times 

2  B 


370  ESTHER  WATERS 

when  he  came  to  see  Miss  Rice.  The  memory  of  those 
days  came  back  upon  her,  and  she  felt  she  had  seen  him 
for  the  last  time.  But  it  was  foolish^  and  wicked  too^  to 
think  of  such  things  —  her  husband  dying.  But  she 
couldn't  help  it ;  he  reminded  her  of  so  much  of  what  was 
past  and  gone.  A  moment  after  she  dashed  these  personal 
tears  aside  and  walked  open-hearted  to  meet  William. 
What  had  the  doctor  said  ?  She  must  know  the  truth.  If 
she  was  to  lose  him  she  would  lose  everything.  No^  not 
ever3^thing  ;  her  boy  would  still  remain  to  her,  and  she  felt 
thatj  after  all,  her  boy  was  most  what  was  real  to  her  in  life. 
These  were  the  thoughts  that  passed  through  her  mind 
before  William  had  time  to  answer  her  question. 

"  He  said  the  left  lung  was  gone,  that  I'd  never  be  able 
to  stand  another  winter  in  England.  He  said  I  must  go 
to  Egypt." 

^'  Egypt/'  she  repeated.  "  Is  that  very  far  from 
here?" 

"  What  matter  how  far  it  is !  If  I  can't  live  in  Eng- 
land I  must  go  where  I  can  live." 

"Don't  be  cross,  dear.      I  know  it's  your  health  that 
makes  you  that  irritable,  but  it's  hard  to  bear  at  times." 
"  You  won't  care  to  go  to  Egypt  with  me." 
"  How  can  you  think  that,  Bill  ?     Have  I  ever  refused 
you  anything?" 

"  Quite  right,  old  girl,  I'm  sorry.      I   know  you'd  do 
anything  for  me.     I've  always  said    so,  haven't  I  ?     It's 
this  cough  that  makes  me  sharp-tempered  and  fretful.     I 
shall  be  different  when  I  get  to  Egypt." 
"  When  do  we  start  ?" 

"  If  we  get  away  by  the  end  of  October  it  will  be  all 
right.  It  will  cost  a  lot  of  money ;  the  journey  is 
expensive,  and  we  shall  have  to  stop  there  six  months. 
I  couldn't  think  of  coming  home  before  the  end  of 
April." 


ESTHER  WATERS  371 

Esther  did  not  answer.  They  walked  some  yards  in 
silence.     Then  he  said  : 

"I've  been  very  unlucky  lately;  there  isn't  much  over 
a  hundred  pounds  in  the  bank." 

"How  much  shall  we  want?" 

"Three  or  four  hundred  pounds  at  least.  We  won't 
take  the  boy  with  us,  we  couldn't  afford  that;  but  I 
should  like  to  pay  a  couple  of  quarters  in  advance." 

"  That  won't  be  much." 

"Not  if  I  have  any  luck.  The  luck  must  turn,  and 
I  have  some  splendid  information  about  the  Great 
Ebor  and  the  Yorkshire  Stakes.  Stacks  knows  of  a 
horse  or  two  that's  being  kept  for  Sandown.  Unfor- 
tunately there  is  not  much  doing  in  August.  I  must  try 
to  make  up  the  money :  it's  a  matter  of  life  and  death." 

It  was  for  his  very  life  that  her  husband  was  now 
gambling  on  the  racecourse,  and  a  sensation  of  great 
wickedness  came  up  in  her  mind,  but  she  stifled  it.  But 
William  noticed  the  look  of  fear  that  appeared  in  her 
eyes,  and  he  said  : 

"It's  my  last  chance.  I  can't  get  the  money  any 
other  way ;  and  I  don't  want  to  die  yet  awhile.  I 
haven't  been  as  good  to  you  as  I'd  like,  and  I  want  to 
do  something  for  the  boy,  you  know," 

He  had  been  told  not  to  remain  out  after  sundown, 
but  he  was  resolved  to  leave  no  stone  unturned  in  his 
search  for  information,  and  often  he  returned  home  as 
late  as  nine  and  ten  o'clock  at  night  coughing — Esther 
could  hear  him  all  up  the  street.  He  came  in  ready 
to  drop  with  fatigue,  his  pockets  filled  with  sporting 
papers,  and  these  he  studied,  spreading  them  on  the 
table  under  the  lamp,  while  Esther  sat  striving  to  do 
some  needlework.  It  often  dropped  out  of  her  hands, 
and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  But  she  took  care 
that  he  should  not  see  these  tears.     Sometimes  he  read 


372  ESTHER  WATERS 

out  the  horses'  names  and  asked  her  which  she  thought 
would  win,  which  seemed  to  her  a  likely  name.  But 
she  begged  of  him  not  to  ask  her ;  they  had  many 
quarrels  on  this  subject,  but  in  the  end  he  understood 
that  it  was  not  fair  to  ask  her.  Sometimes  Stack  and 
Journeyman  came  in,  and  they  argued  about  weights 
and  distances,  until  midnight ;  old  John  came  to  see 
them  and  every  day  he  had  heard  some  new  tip.  It 
often  rose  to  Esther's  lips  to  tell  William  to  back  his 
fancy  and  have  done  with  it :  she  could  see  that  these 
discussions  only  fatigued  him  ;  that  he  was  no  nearer  to 
the  truth  now  than  he  was  a  fortnight  ago.  Meanwhile, 
the  horse  he  had  thought  of  backing  had  gone  up  in 
the  betting.  But  he  said  that  he  must  be  very  careful. 
They  had  only  a  hundred  pounds  left ;  he  must  be 
careful  not  to  risk  this  money  foolishly — it  was  his  very 
life-blood.  If  he  were  to  lose  all  this  money,  he  wouldn't 
only  sign  his  own  death-warrant,  but  also  hers.  He 
might  linger  on  a  long  while — there  was  no  knowing, — 
but  he  would  never  be  able  to  do  any  work,  that  was 
certain  (unless  he  went  out  to  Egypt) ;  the  doctor  had 
said  so,  and  then  it  w^ould  be  she  who  would  have  to 
support  him.  And  if  God  were  merciful  enough  to 
take  him  oif  at  once  he  would  leave  her  in  a  worse 
plight  than  he  had  found  her  in,  and  the  boy  growing 
up !  Oh,  it  was  terrible !  He  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands,  and  seemed  quite  overcome.  Then  the  cough 
would  take  him,  and  for  a  few  minutes  he  could  only 
think  of  himself.  Esther  gave  him  a  little  milk  to 
drink,  and  he  said : 

"  There's  a  hundred  pounds  left,  Esther.  It  isn't  much, 
but  it's  something.  I  don't  believe  that  there's  much  use 
in  my  going  to  Egypt.  I  shall  never  get  well.  It  is 
better  that  I  should  pitch  myself  into  the  river.  That 
would  be  the  least  selfish  way  out  of  it." 


ESTHER  WATERS  373 

''William,    I    will    not    have   you    talk    in    that   way/' 

Esther  said,  laying  down  her  work  and  going  over  to  him. 

"  If  you  was  to  do  such  a  thing  I  should  never  forgive  you. 

I  could  never  think  the  same  of  you." 

"All   right,  old    girl,  don't    be  frightened.     I've  been 

thinking   too    much    about   them   horses,    and   am    a   bit 

depressed.     I  daresay  it  will  come  out  all  right.     I  think 

that    Mahomet   is   sure    to   win    the    Great   Ebor,   don't 

you?" 

"  I  don't  think  there's  no  better  judge  than  yourself. 

They  all  say  if  he  don't  fall  lame  that  he's  bound  to  win." 
"  Then  Mahomet  shall  carry  my  money.     I'll  back  him 

to-morrow." 

Now  that  he  had  made  up  his  mind  what  horse  to  back 
his  spirits  revived.     He  was  able  to  dismiss  the  subject 

from  his  mind,  and  they  talked  of  other  things,  of  their 
son,  and  they  laid  projects  for  his  welfare.  But  on  the 
day  of  the  race,  from  early  morning,  William  could  barely! 
contain  himself.  Usually  he  took  his  winnings  and  losings  \ 
very  quietly.  When  he  had  been  especially  unlucky  he 
swore  a  bit,  but  Esther  had  never  seen  any  great  excite- 
ment before  a  race  w^as  run.  The  issues  of  this  race  were 
extraordinary,  and  it  was  heart-breaking  to  see  him  suffer ; 
he  could  not  remain  still  a  moment.  A  prey  to  all  the 
terrors  of  hope,  exhausted  with  anticipation,  he  rested 
himself  against  the  sideboard  and  wiped  drops  of  sweat 
from  his  forehead.  A  broiling  sunlight  infested  their 
window-panes,  the  room  grew  oven -like,  and  he  was 
obliged  at  last  to  go  into  the  back  parlour  and  lie  down. 
He  lay  there  in  his  shirt  sleeves  quite  exhausted,  hardly 
able  to  breathe  ;  the  arm  once  so  strong  and  healthy  was 
shrunken  to  a  little  nothing.  He  seemed  quite  bloodless, 
and  looking  at  him  Esther  could  hardly  hope  that  any 
climate  would  restore  him  to  health.  He  just  asked  her 
what  the  time  was,  and  said,  "  The  race  is  being  run  now." 


374  ESTHER  WATERS 

A  few  minutes  after  he  said^  "  I  think  Mahomet  has  won.  T 
fancied  I  saw  him  get  first  past  the  post."  He  spoke  as  if  he 
were  sure,  and  said  nothing  about  the  evening  paper.  If 
he  were  disappointed,  Esther  felt  that  it  would  kill  him,  and 
she  knelt  down  by  the  bedside  and  prayed  that  God  would 
allow  the  horse  to  win.  It  meant  her  husband's  life,  that 
was  all  she  knew.  Oh,  that  the  horse  might  win ! 
Presently  he  said,  "  There's  no  use  praying,  I  feel  sure  it 
is  all  right.  Go  into  the  next  room,  stand  on  the  balcony 
so  that  you  may  see  the  boy  coming  along." 

With  agonised  soul  the  woman  viewed  the  serenity  of 
the  evening  sky  and  heard  the  cry  ''  Win-ner,  win-ner  " 
coming  up  the  street.  It  came  from  the  north,  from  the  east, 
and  now  from  the  west.  Ah,  if  it  should  prove  bad  news  ! 
But  somehow  she  too  felt  that  the  news  was  good,  and 
ran  to  meet  the  boy.  She  had  a  halfpenny  ready  in  her 
hand  ;  he  fumbled,  striving  to  detach  a  single  paper  from 
the  quire  under  his  arm.  Seeing  her  impatience,  he  said, 
"Mahomet's  won."  Then  the  pavement  seemed  to  slide 
beneath  her  feet,  and  she  could  hardly  see,  so  full  was 
her  heart,  so  burdened  with  the  happiness  that  she  was 
bringing  to  the  poor  sick  fellow  who  lay  in  his  shirt 
sleeves  on  the  bed  in  the  back  room.  "  It's  all  right," 
she  said.  *'I  thought  so  too;  it  seemed  like  it."  His 
face  flushed,  life  seemed  to  come  back.  He  sat  up  and 
took  the  paper  from  her.  "There/'  he  said,  "I've  got 
my  place-money,  too.  I  hope  Stack  and  Journeyman 
come  in  to-night.  I'd  like  to  have  a  chat  about  this. 
Come,  give  me  a  kiss,  dear.  I'm  not  going  to  die,  after 
all.  It  isn't  a  pleasant  thing  to  think  that  you  must  die, 
that  there's  no  hope  for  you,  that  you  must  go  under 
ground." 

The  next  thing  to  do  was  to  pick  the  winner  of  the 
Yorkshire  Handicap.  In  this  he  was  not  successful,  but 
he  backed  several  winners  at  Sandown  Park,  and  at  the 


ESTHER  WATERS  3l5 

close  of  the  week  had  made  nearly  enough  to  take  him 
to  Egypt. 

The  Doncaster  week,  however,  proved  disastrous.  He 
lost  most  of  his  winnings,  and  had  to  look  forward  to 
retrieving  his  fortunes  at  Newmarket.  "  The  worst  of  it 
is,  if  I  don't  make  up  the  money  by  October,  it  will  be  no 
use.     They  say  the  November  fogs  will  polish  me  off." 

Between  Doncaster  and  Newmarket  he  lost  a  bet,  and 
this  bet  carried  him  back  into  despondency.  He  felt  it  was 
no  use  struggling  against  fate.  Better  remain  in  London 
and  be  taken  away  at  the  end  of  November  or  December  ; 
he  couldn't  last  much  longer  than  that.  This  would  allow 
him  to  leave  Esther  at  least  fifty  pounds  to  go  on  with. 
The  boy  would  soon  be  able  to  earn  money.  It  would  be 
better  so.  No  use  wasting  all  this  money  for  the  sake  ot 
his  health,  which  wasn't  worth  twopence  three-farthings. 
It  was  like  throwing  sovereigns  after  farthings.  He  didn't 
want  to  do  any  betting ;  he  was  as  hollow  as  a  shell  inside, 
he  could  feel  it.  Egypt  could  do  nothing  for  him,  and  as 
he  had  to  go,  better  sooner  than  later.  Esther  argued 
with  him.  What  should  she  have  to  live  for  if  he  was 
taken  from  her  ?  The  doctors  had  said  that  Egypt  might 
set  him  right.  She  didn't  know  much  about  such  things, 
but  she  had  always  heard  that  it  was  extraordinary  how 
people  got  cured  out  there. 

"That's  true,"  he  said.  "I've  heard  that  people  who 
couldn't  live  a  week  in  England,  who  haven't  the  length 
of  your  finger  of  lung  left,  can  go  on  all  right  out  there. 
I  might  get  something  to  do  out  there,  and  the  boy  might 
come  out  after  us." 

"That's  the  way  I  like  to  hear  you  talk.  Who  knows, 
at  Newmarket  we  might  have  luck  !  Just  one  big  bet,  a 
winner  at  fifty  to  one,  that's  all  we  want." 

"  That's  just  what  has  bee^  passing  in  my  mind.  I've 
got   particular    information   about    the    Cesarewitch    and 


376  ESTHER  WATERS 

Cambridgeshire.  I  could  get  the  price  you  speak  of— 
fifty  to  one  against  the  two,  Matchbox  and  Chasuble — the 
double  event,  you  know.  I'm  inclined  to  go  it.  It's  my 
last  chance." 


XLII. 

When  Matchbox  galloped  home  the  winner  of  the 
Cesarewitch  by  five  lengths,  William  was  lying  in  his  bed, 
seemingly  at  death's  door.  He  had  remained  out  late  one 
evening,  had  caught  cold,  and  his  mouth  was  constantly 
filled  with  blood.  He  was  much  worse,  and  could  hardly 
take  notice  of  the  good  news.  When  he  revived  a  little  he 
said,  "It  has  come  too  late."  But  when  Chasuble  was 
backed  to  win  thousands  at  ten  to  one,  and  Journeyman 
and  Stack  assured  him  that  the  stable  was  quite  confident 
of  being  able  to  pull  it  off,  his  spirits  revived.  He  spoke 
of  hedging.  "  If,"  he  said  to  Esther,  "  I  was  to  get  out  at 
eight  or  nine  to  one  I  should  be  able  to  leave  you  some- 
thing, you  know,  in  case  of  accidents."  But  he  would  not 
entrust  laying  off  his  bet  to  either  Stack  or  Journeyman  ; 
he  spoke  of  a  cab  and  seeing  to  it  himself.  If  he  did  this 
the  doctor  assured  him  that  it  would  not  much  matter 
whether  Chasuble  won  or  lost.  "  The  best  thing  he  could 
do,"  the  doctor  said,  "would  be  to  become  an  indoor 
patient  at  once.  In  the  hospital  he  would  be  in  an  equable 
temperature,  and  he  would  receive  an  attention  which  he 
could  not  get  at  home." 

William  did  not  like  going  into  the  hospital ;  it  would 
be  a  bad  omen.  If  he  did,  he  felt  sure  that  Chasuble 
would  not  win. 

"  What  has  going  or  not  going  to  the  hospital  to  do  with 
Chasuble's  chance  of  winning  the  Cambridgeshire  .^"  said 
the  doctor.  "  This  window  is  loose  in  its  sash,  a  draught 
comes  under  the  door,  and  if  you  close  out  the  draughts 


ESTHER  WATERS  377 

the  atmosphere  of  the  room  becomes  stuffy.  You're 
thinking  of  going  abroad  ;  a  fortnight's  nice  rest  is  just 
what  you  want  to  set  you  up  for  your  journey." 

So  he  allowed  himself  to  be  persuaded  ;  he  was  taken  to 
the  hospital,  and  Esther  remained  at  home  waiting  for  the 
foteful  afternoon.  Now  that  the  dying  man  was  taken 
from  her  she  had  no  work  to  distract  her  thought.  The 
unanswerable  question — would  Chasuble  win  ? — was  always  I 
before  her.  She  saw  the  slender  greyhound  creatures  as 
she  had  seen  them  at  Epsom,  through  a  sea  of  heads  and 
hats,  and  she  asked  herself  if  Chasuble  was  the  brown 
horse  that  had  galloped  in  first,  or  the  chestnut  that  had 
trotted  in  last.  She  often  thought  she  was  going  mad — 
her  head  seemed  like  it — a  sensation  of  splitting  like  a 
piece  of  calico.  She  went  to  see  her  boy,  a  great  tall 
fellow  of  fifteen,  who  had  happily  lost  none  of  his  affection 
for  his  mother,  and  great  sweetness  rose  up  within  her  as 
she  looked  at  his  long,  straight,  yellow-stockinged  legs, 
and  settled  the  collar  of  his  cloak,  and  slipped  her  fingers 
into  his  leathern  belt  as  they  walked  side  by  side.  He 
was  bare-headed,  according  to  the  fashion  of  his  school, 
and  she  kissed  the  wild,  dark  curls  with  which  his  head 
was  run  over ;  they  were  much  brighter  in  colour  when 
he  was  a  little  boy — those  days  when  she  slaved  seventeen 
hours  a  day  for  his  dear  life  !  But  he  paid  her  back 
tenfold  for  the  hardship  she  had  undergone,  and  she 
listened  to  the  excellent  report  his  masters  gave  of  his 
progress,  and  walked  through  the  quadrangles  and  the 
corridors  with  him,  thinking  of  the  sound  of  his  voice  as  he 
told  her  the  story  of  his  classes  and  his  studies.  She  must 
live  for  him ;  though  for  herself  she  had  had  enough  of 
life.  But,  thank  God,  she  had  her  darling  boy,  and  what- 
ever unhappiness  there  might  be  in  store  for  her  she  would 
bear  it  for  his  sake.  He  knew  that  his  father  was  ill,  but 
she   checked   her  tongue  and   told   him   no  word   of  the 


378  ESTHER  WATERS 

tragedy    that   was    hanging    over    them^    for    the    noble 

instincts  which    were   so    intrinsically   Esther's   told   her 

that   it  were  a  pity  to   soil   at  the  outset  a  young   life 

with  a  sordid  story,  and  though  it  would  have   been   a 

j     great  relief  to  her  to  have   shared  her  trouble  w4th  her 

/,  j     boy,  she  forced  back  her  tears  and  bore  her  cross  alone, 

j     without  once  allowing  its  edge  to  touch  him. 

And  every  day  that  visitors  were  allowed  she  went  to 
the  hospital  with  the  newspaper  containing  the  last 
betting.  "  Chasuble,  ten  to  one  taken,"  William  read  out. 
The  mare  had  advanced  three  points,  and  William  looked 
at  Esther  inquiringly,  and  with  hope  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  think  she'll  win,"  he  said,  raising  himself  in  his  cane 
chair. 

"I  hope  so,  dear,"  she  murmured,  and  she  settled  his 
cushions. 

Two  days  after  the  mare  was  back  again  at  thirteen  to 
one  taken  and  offered ;  she  went  back  even  as  far  as 
eighteen  to  one,  and  then  returned  for  a  while  to  twelve 
to  one.  This  fluctuation  meant  that  something  was  wrong, 
and  William  began  to  lose  hope.  But  on  the  following 
day  the  mare  was  backed  to  win  a  good  deal  of  money  at 
Tattersall's,  and  once  more  she  stood  at  ten  to  one. 
Seeing  her  back  at  the  old  price  made  W^illiam  look  so 
hopeful  that  a  patient  stopped  as  he  passed  down  the 
corridor,  and  catching  sight  of  the  Sportsman  on  William's 
lap,  he  asked  him  if  he  was  interested  in  racing.  W^illiam 
told  him  that  he  was,  and  that  if  Chasuble  won  he  would 
be  able  to  go  to  Egypt. 

^'  Them  that  has  money  can  buy  health  as  well  as 
everything  else.  We'd  all  get  well  if  we  could  get  out 
there." 

William  told  him  how  much  he  stood  to  win. 

"  That'll  keep  you  going  long  enough  to  set  you  straight. 
You  say  the  mare's  backed  at  ten  to  one — two  hundred  to 


ESTHER  WATERS  379 

twenty.  I  wonder  if  I  could  get  the  money.  I  might  sell 
up  the  'ouse." 

But  before  he  had  time  to  realise  the  necessary  money 
the  mare  was  driven  back  to  eighteen  to  one^  and  he 
said  : 

'^  She  won't  win.  I  might  as  well  leave  the  wife  in  the 
'ouse.     There's  no  luck  for  them  that  comes  'ere." 

On  the  day  of  the  race  Esther  walked  through  the 
streets  like  one  daft,  stupidly  interested  in  the  passers-by 
and  the  disputes  that  arose  between  the  drivers  of  cabs 
and  omnibuses.  Now  and  then  her  thoughts  collected, 
and  it  seemed  to  her  impossible  that  the  mare  should  win. 
If  she  did  they  would  have  £2,500,  and  would  go  to 
Egypt.  But  she  could  not  imagine  such  a  thing  ;  it  seemed 
so  much  more  natural  that  the  mare  should  lose,  and  that 
her  husband  should  die,  and  that  she  should  have  to  face 
the  world  once  more.  She  offered  up  prayers  that  Chasuble 
might  win,  although  it  did  not  seem  right  to  address  God 
on  the  subject,  but  her  heart  so  often  felt  like  breaking 
that  she  had  to  do  something.  God  would  forgive  her. 
But  now  that  the  day  had  come  she  did  not  feel  as  if  He 
had  granted  her  request.  Yet  it  did  not  seem  that  her 
husband  was  going  to  die. 

She  stopped  at  the  "  Bell  and  Horns"  to  see  what  the 
time  was,  and  was  surprised  to  find  it  was  half-an-hour 
later  than  she  had  expected.  The  race  was  being  run, 
Chasuble's  hoofs  were  deciding  whether  her  husband  was 
to  live  or  die.  It  was  on  the  wire  by  this  time.  The 
wires  were  distinct  upon  a  blue  and  dove-coloured  sky. 
Did  that  one  go  to  Newmarket,  or  the  other  ?     Which  ? 

The  red  building  came  in  sight,  and  a  patient  walked 
slowly  up  the  walk,  his  back  turned  to  her  ;  another  had 
sat  down  to  rest.  Sixteen  years  ago  patients  were  walking 
there,  and  the  leaves  were  scattering  then  just  as  now. 
She  began  to  wonder  when  the  first  boy  would  appear 


S80  ESTHER  WATERS 

with  the  news.  William  was  not  in  the  grounds ;  he  was 
upstairs  behind  those  windows.  Poor  fellow,  she  could 
fancy  him  sitting  there.  Perhaps  he  was  watching  for 
her  out  of  one  of  those  windows.  But  there  was  no  use 
her  going  up  until  she  had  the  news ;  she  must  wait  for 
the  paper.  She  walked  up  and  down  listening  for  the 
cry.  Every  now  and  then  expectation  led  her  to  mistake 
some  ordinary  cry  for  the  terrible  ^^Win-ner,  all  the 
win-ners/'  with  which  the  whole  town  would  echo  in  a 
few  minutes.  She  hastened  forward.  No,  it  was  not  it. 
At  last  she  heard  the  word  shrieked  behind  her.  She 
hastened  after  the  boy,  but  failed  to  overtake  him. 
Returning,  she  met  another,  gave  him  a  halfpenny  and 
took  a  paper.  Then  she  remembered  she  must  ask  the 
boy  to  tell  her  who  won.  But  heedless  of  her  question 
he  had  run  across  the  road  to  sell  papers  to  some  men 
who  had  come  out  of  a  public-house.  She  must  not  give 
William  the  paper  and  wait  for  him  to  read  the  news  to 
hei:.  If  the  news  were  bad  the  shock  might  kill  him. 
She  must  learn  first  what  the  news  was,  so  that  her  face 
and»  manner  might  prepare  him  for  the  worst  if  need  be. 
So  she  offered  the  paper  to  the  porter  and  asked  him  to 
tell  her.  "  Bramble,  King  of  Trumps,  Young  Hopeful," 
he  read  out. 

^^  Are  you  sure  that  Chasuble  hasn't  won  }" 

"  Of  course  I'm  sure,  there  it  is." 

"  I  can't  read,"  she  said  as  she  turned  away. 

The  news  had  stunned  her ;  the  world  seemed  to  lose 
reality ;  she  was  uncertain  what  to  do,  and  several  times 
repeated  to  herself,  '^  There's  nothing  for  it  but  to  go  up 
and  tell  him.  I  don't  see  what  else  I  can  do."  The 
staircase  was  very  steep  ;  she  climbed  it  slowly,  and  stopped 
at  the  first  landing  and  looked  out  of  the  window.  A  poor 
hollow-chested  creature,  the  wreck  of  a  human  being, 
struggled  up  behind  her.      He  had  to  rest  several  times, 


ESTHER  WATERS  ^81 

and  in  the  hollow  building  his  cough  sounded  loud  and 
hollow.  "It  isn't  generally  so  loud  a>3  that,"  she  thought, 
and  wondered  how  she  could  tell  William  the  news.  "He 
wanted  to  see  Jack  grow  up  to  be  a  man.  He  thought 
that  we  might  all  go  to  Egypt,  and  that  he'd  get  quite 
well  there,  for  there's  plenty  of  sunshine  there,  but  now 
he'll  have  to  make  up  his  mind  to  die  in  the  November 
fogs,"  Her  thoughts  came  strangely  clear,  and  she  was 
astonished  at  her  indifference,  until  a  sudden  revulsion  of 
feeling  took  her  as  she  was  going  up  the  last  flight.  She 
couldn't  tell  him  the  news  ;  it  was  too  cruel.  She  let  the 
patient  pass  her,  and  when  alone  on  the  landing  she  looked 
down  into  the  depth.  She  thought  she'd  like  to  fall  over; 
anything  rather  than  to  do  what  she  knew  she  must  do. 
But  her  cowardice  only  endured  for  a  moment,  and  with  a 
firm  step  she  walked  into  the  corridor.  It  seemed  to  cross 
the  entire  building,  and  was  floored  and  wainscoted  with 
the  same  brown  varnished  wood  as  the  staircase.  There 
were  benches  along  the  walls ;  and  emaciated  and  worn- 
out  men  lay  on  the  long  cane  chairs  in  the  windowed 
recesses  by  which  the  passage  was  lighted.  The  wards, 
containing  sometimes  three,  sometimes  six  or  seven  beds, 
opened  on  to  this  passage.  The  doors  of  the  wards  were 
all  open,  and  as  she  passed  along  she  started  at  the  sight 
of  a  boy  sitting  up  in  bed.  His  head  had  been  shaved, 
and  only  a  slight  bristle  covered  the  crown.  The  head 
and  face  were  a  large  white  mass  with  two  eyes. 

At  the  end  of  the  passage  there  was  a  window;  and 
William  sat  there  reading  a  book.  He  saw  her  before 
she  saw  him,  and  when  she  caught  sight  of  him  she 
stopped,  holding  the  paper  loose  before  her  between 
finger  and  thumb,  and  as  she  approached  she  saw  that 
her  manner  had  already  broken  the  news  to  him. 

"  I  see  that  she  didn't  win,"  he  said. 


S82  ESTHER  WATERS 

"  No,  dear,  she  didn't  win.     We  wasn't  lucky  this  time  : 

next  time " 

"  There  is  no  next  time,  at  least  for  me.  I  shall  be  far 
away  from  here  when  flat  racing  begins  again.  The 
November  fogs  will  do  for  me,  I  feel  that  they  will.  I 
hope  there'll  be  no  lingering,  that's  all.  Better  to  know 
the  worst  and  make  up  your  mind.  So  I  have  to  go, 
have  I  ?  So  there's  no  hope,  and  I  shall  be  under  ground 
before  the  next  meeting.  I  shall  never  lay  or  take  the 
odds  again.  It  do  seem  strange.  If  only  that  mare 
had  won.  I  knew  damned  well  she  wouldn't  if  I  came 
here." 

Then,  catching  sight  of  the  pained  look  on  his  wife's 
face,  he  said,  "  I  don't  suppose  it  made  no  difference ;  it 
was  to  be,  and  what  has  to  be  has  to  be.  I've  got  to  go 
under  ground.  I  felt  it  was  to  be  all  along.  Egypt  would 
have  done  me  no  good  ;  I  never  believed  in  it — only  a  lot 
of  false  hope.  You  don't  think  what  I  say  is  true.  Look 
'ere,  do  you  know  what  book  this  is  ?  This  is  the  Bible  ; 
that'll  prove  to  you  that  I  knew  the  game  was  up.  I 
knew,  I  can't  tell  you  how,  but  I  knew  the  mare  wouldn't 
win.  One  always  seems  to  know.  Even  when  I  backed 
her  I  didn't  feel  about  her  like  I  did  about  the  other  one, 
and  ever  since  I've  been  feeling  more  and  more  sure  that 
it  wasn't  to  be.  Somehow  it  didn't  seem  likely,  and  to-day 
something  told  me  that  the  game  was  up,  so  I  asked  for 
this  book.  .  .  .     There's  wonderful,  beautiful  things  in  it." 

"  There  is,  indeed,  Bill ;  and  I  hope  you  won't  get  tired 
of  it,  but  will  go  on  reading  it." 

"  It's  extraordinary  how  consoling  it  is.  Listen  to  this. 
Isn't  it  beautiful ;  ain't  them  words  heavenly  ?" 

"They  is,  indeed.     I  knew  you'd  come  to  God  at  last.'* 

"  I'm  afraid  I've  not  led  a  good  life.  I  wouldn't  listen 
to  you  when  you  used  to  tell  me  of  the  lot  of  harm  the 
betting  used  to  bring  on  the  poor  people  what  used  to 


ESTHER  WATERS  383 

come  to  our  place.  There's  Sarah,  I  suppose  she's  out 
of  prison  by  this.  You've  seen  nothing  of  her,  I 
suppose?" 

"No,  nothing." 

"There  was  Ketley." 

"No,  Bill,  don't  let's  think  about  it.  If  you're  truly 
sorry,  God  will  forgive." 

"  Do  you  think  He  will — and  the  others  that  we  know 
nothing  about  ?  I  wouldn't  listen  to  you ;  I  was  headstrong, 
but  I  understand  it  all  now.  My  eyes  'ave  been  opened. 
Them  pious  folk  that  got  up  the  prosecution  knew  what 
they  was  about.     I  forgive  them  one  and  all." 

William  coughed  a  little.  The  conversation  paused, 
and  the  cough  was  repeated  down  the  corridor.  Now  it 
came  from  the  men  lying  on  the  long  cane  chairs;  now 
from  the  poor  emaciated  creature,  hollow  cheeks,  brown 
eyes  and  beard,  who  had  just  come  out  of  his  ward  and 
had  sat  down  on  a  bench  by  the  wall.  Now  it  came  from 
an  old  man  six  feet  high,  with  snow-white  hair.  He  sat 
near  them,  and  worked  assiduously  at  a  piece  of  tapestry. 
"  It'll  be  better  when  it's  cut,"  he  said  to  one  of  the 
nurses,  who  had  stopped  to  compliment  him  on  his  work ; 
"it'll  be  better  when  it's  cut."  Then  the  cough  came 
from  one  of  the  wards,  and  Esther  thought  of  the  fearsome 
boy  sitting  bolt  up,  his  huge  tallow-like  face  staring  through 
the  silence  of  the  room.  A  moment  after  the  cough  came 
from  her  husband's  lips,  and  they  looked  at  each  other. 
Both  wanted  to  speak,  and  neither  knew  what  to  say. 
At  last  William  spoke. 

"I  was  saying  that  I  never  had  that  feeling  about 
Chasuble  as  one  'as  about  a  winner.  Did  she  run  second  ? 
Just  like  my  luck  if  she  did.     Let  me  see  the  paper." 

Esther  handed  it  to  him. 

"  Bramble,  a  fifty  to  one  chance,  not  one  man  in  a 
hundred  backed  her ;   King  of  Trumps,  there  was  some 


S84  ESTHER  WATERS 

place  money  lost  on  him  ;  Young  Hopeful,  a  rank  outsider. 
What  a  day  for  the  bookies  !" 

"You  mustn't  think  of  them  things  no  more/'  said 
Esther.     "  You've  got  the  Book  ;  it'll  do  you  more  good." 

"  If  I  'd  only  have  thought  of  Bramble.  I  could  have 
had  a  hundred  to  one  against  Matchbox  and  Bramble 
coupled." 

"  What's  the  use  of  thinkino-  of  things  that's  over  ?  We 
should  think  of  the  future." 

"  If  I  'd  only  been  able  to  hedge  that  bet  1  should  have 
been  able  to  leave  you  something  to  go  on  with,  but  now, 
when  everything  is  paid  for,  you'll  have  hardly  a  five-pound 
note.  You've  been  a  good  wife  to  me,  and  I've  been  a  bad 
husband  to  you." 

"  Bill,  you  mustn't  speak  like  that.  You  must  try  to 
make  your  peace  with  God.  Think  of  Him.  He'll  think 
of  us  that  you  leave  behind.  I've  always  had  faith  in  Him. 
He'll  not  desert  me." 

Her  eyes  were  quite  dry ;  the  instinct  of  life  seemed  to 
have  left  her.  They  spoke  some  little  while  longer,  until 
it  was  time  for  visitors  to  leave  the  hospital.  It  was  not 
until  she  got  into  the  Fulham  Road  that  tears  began  to 
run  down  her  cheeks ;  they  poured  faster  and  faster, 
like  rain  after  long  dry  weather.  The  whole  world 
disappeared  in  a  mist  of  tears.  And  so  overcome  was 
she  by  her  grief  that  she  had  to  lean  against  the  railings, 
and  the  passers-by  turned  and  looked  at  her  curiously. 


XLIII. 

With  fair  weather  he  might  hold  on  till  Christmas,  but  if 
much  fog  was  about  he  would  go  off  earlier,  with  the 
last  leaves.  One  day  Esther  received  a  letter  asking  her 
to  defer  her  visit  from  Friday  to  Sunday,   for  he  hoped 


ESTHER  WATERS  38,^ 

to  be  better  on  Sunday,  and  then  they  would  arrange 
when  she  should  come  to  take  him  away.  He  wanted 
to  see  his  boy  before  he  died. 

Mrs.  Collins,  a  woman  who  lived  in  the  next  room,  read 
the  letter  to  Esther. 

"  If  you  can,  do  as  he  wishes.  Once  they  gets  them 
fancies  into  their  heads  there's  no  getting  them  out." 

"  If  he  leaves  the  hospital  on  a  day  like  this  it'll  be  the 
death  of  him."  The  street  lamps  burnt  low,  mournful,  as 
in  a  city  of  the  dead,  and  the  sounds  that  rose  out  of  the 
street  added  to  the  terror  of  the  strange  darkness.  "  What 
do  he  say  about  Jack  ?  That  I'm  to  send  for  him.  It's 
natural  he  should  like  to  see  the  boy  before  he  goes,  but 
it  would  be  cheerfuller  to  take  him  to  the  hospital." 

"  You  see,  he  wants  to  die  at  home  ;  he  wants  you  to  be 
with  him  at  the  last." 

.  "  Yes,  I  want  to  see  the  last  of  him.  But  the  boy, 
where's  he  to  sleep  ?" 

"We  can  lay  a  mattress  down  in  my  room — an  old 
woman  like  me,  it  don't  matter." 

Sunday  morning  was  harsh  and  cold,  and  when  she  came 
out  of  South  Kensington  Station  a  fog  was  thickening  in  the 
squares,  and  a  great  drift  of  yellow  cloud  settled  down 
upon  the  house-tops.  In  the  Fulham  Road  the  tops  of  the 
houses  disappeared,  and  the  light  of  the  third  gas-lamp 
was  not  visible. 

"  This  is  the  sort  of  weather  that  takes  them  off.  I  can 
hardly  breathe  it  myself" 

Everything  was  shadow-like  ;  those  walking  in  front  ot 
her  passed  out  of  sight  like  shades,  and  once  she  thought 
she  must  have  missed  her  way,  though  that  was  impossible, 
for  her  way  was  quite  straight.  Suddenly  the  silhouette 
of  the  winged  building  rose  up  enormous  on  the  sulphur 
sky.  The  low -lying  gardens  were  full  of  poisonous 
vapour,  and  the  thin  trees  seemed  like  the  ghosts  of  con- 

2  c 


586  ESTHER  WATERS 

sumptive  men.  The  porter  coughed  like  a  dead  man  as 
she  passed,  and  he  said,  '^^  Bad  weather  for  the  poor  sick 
ones  upstairs." 

She  was  prepared  for  a  change  for  the  worse,  but  she 
did  not  expect  to  see  a  Hving  man  looking  so  like  a  dead 
one. 

He  could  no  longer  lie  back  in  bed  and  breathe,  so  he 
was  propped  up  with  pillows,  and  he  looked  even  as 
shadow-like  as  those  she  had  half  seen  in  the  fog-cloud. 
There  was  fog  even  in  the  ward,  and  the  lights  burned  red 
in  the  silence.  There  were  five  beds — low  iron  bedsteads — 
and  each  was  covered  with  a  dark  red  rug.  In  the 
farthest  corner  lay  the  wreck  of  a  great  working-man. 
He  wore  his  hob-nails  and  his  corduroys,  and  his  once 
brawny  arm  lay  along  his  thigh,  shrivelled  and  powerless 
as  a  child's.  In  the  middle  of  the  room  a  little  clerk, 
wasted  and  weary,  without  any  strength  at  all,  lay  striving 
for  breath.  The  navvy  was  alone  ;  the  little  clerk  had  his 
family  round  him — his  wife  and  his  two  children,  a  baby  in 
arms  and  a  little  boy  three  years  old.  The  doctor  had  just 
come  in,  and  the  woman  was  prattling  gaily  about  her  con- 
finement.    She  said  : 

'^'  I  was  up  the  following  week.  Wonderful  what  we 
women  can  go  through.  No  one  would  think  it.  Brought 
the  childer  to  see  their  father  ;  they  is  a  little  idol  to  him, 
poor  fellow." 

"  How  are  you  to-day,  dearie  ?"  Esther  said,  as  she  took 
a  seat  by  her  husband's  bed. 

"  Better  than  I  was  on  Friday,  but  this  weather '11  do 
for  me  if  it  continues  much  longer.  You  see  them  two 
beds  ?  They  died  yesterday,  and  I've  'eard  that  three  or 
four  that  left  the  hospital  are  gone,  too." 

The  doctor  came  to  W^illiam's  bed.  '^  Well,  are  you  still 
determined  to  go  home  ?"  he  said. 

"^  Yes  ;  I'd  like  to  die  at  home.      You  can't  do  nothing 


ESTHER  WATERS  387 

for  me.  I'd  like  to  die  at  home  ;  I  want  to  see  my 
boy."^ 

"  You  can  see  Jack  here,"  said  Esther. 

'^  I'd  sooner  see  him  at  'ome.  1  suppose  you  don't 
want  the  trouble  of  a  death  in  the  'ouse." 

'^  Oh,  William,  how  can  you  speak  so!"  The  patient 
coughed  painfully,  and  leaned  against  the  pillows,  unable 
to  speak. 

Esther  remained  with  William  till  the  time  permitted  to 
visitors  expired.  He  couldn't  speak  to  her,  but  she  knew 
he  liked  her  to  be  with  him. 

When  she  came  on  Thursday  to  take  him  aAvay,  he  Mas 
a  little  better.  The  clerk's  wife  was  chattering  ;  the  great 
navvy  lay  in  the  corner,  still  as  a  block  of  stone.  Esther 
often  looked  at  him  and  w^ondered  if  he  had  no  friend  who 
could  spare  an  hour  to  come  and  see  him. 

"  I  was  beginning  to  think  that  you  wasn't  coming," 
said  William. 

"  He's  that  restless,"  said  the  clerk's  wife  ;  "asking  the 
time  every  three  or  four  minutes." 

"  How  could  you  think  that  ?"  said  Esther. 

"  I  dunno.     You're  a  bit  late,  aren't  you.^'' 

"  It  often  do  make  them  that  restless,"  said  the  clerk's 
wife.  "  But  my  poor  old  man  is  quiet  enough — aren't 
you,  dear  T'  The  dying  clerk  couldn't  answer,  and  the 
woman  turned  again  to  Esther. 

"And  how  do  you  find  him  to-day  ?" 

"  Much  the  same.  I  think  he's  a  bit  better  and  stronger. 
But  this  weather  is  that  trying.  I  don't  know  how  it  was 
up  your  way,  but  down  my  way  I  never  seed  such  a  fog, 
I  thought  I'd  have  to  turn  back."  At  that  moment  the 
baby  began  to  cry,  and  the  woman  walked  up  and  down 
the  ward,  rocking  it  violently,  talking  loud,  and  making 
a  great  deal  of  noise.  But  she  could  not  quiet  him. 
''Hungry  again,"  she  said.     "I  never  seed  such  a  child 


S88  ESTHER  WATERS 

for  the  breast/'  and  she  sat  down  and  unbuttoned  her 
dress.  When  the  young  doctor  entered  she  hurriedly 
covered  herself;  he  begged  her  to  continue,  and  spoke 
about  her  little  boy.  She  showed  him  a  scar  on  his  throat. 
He  had  been  suffering,  but  it  was  all  right  now.  The 
doctor  glanced  at  the  breathless  father. 

"  A  little  better  to-day,  thank  you,  doctor." 

"That's  all  right;"  and  the  doctor  went  over  to 
William. 

"Are  you  still  bent  to  leave  the  hospital?"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  I  Avant  to  go  home.     I  want  to " 

"  You'll  find  this  weather  very  trying ;  you'd 
better " 

"  No,  thank  you,  sir.  I  should  like  to  go  home.  You've 
been  very  kind  ;  you've  done  everything  that  could  be  done 
for  me.  But  it's  God's  will.  My  wife  is  very  grateful  to 
you,  too." 

"  Yes,  indeed  I  am,  sir.  However  am  I  to  thank  you 
for  your  kindness  to  my  husband?" 

"  I'm  sorry  I  couldn't  do  more.  But  you'll  want  the 
sister  to  help  you  to  dress  him.     I'll  send  her  to  you." 

When  they  got  him  out  of  bed,  Esther  was  shocked  at 
the  spectacle  of  his  poor  body,  for  there  was  nothing  left 
of  him.  His  poor  chest,  his  wasted  ribs,  his  legs  gone  to 
nothing,  and  the  strange  weakness,  worst  of  all,  which 
made  it  so  hard  for  them  to  dress  him.  At  last  it  was  nearly 
done :  Esther  laced  one  boot,  the  nurse  the  other,  and, 
leaning  on  Esther's  arm,  he  looked  round  the  room  for  the 
last  time.     The  navvv  turned  round  on  his  bed  and  said : 

"Good-bye,  mate." 

' '  Good-bye .     Good-bye,  all. ' ' 

The  clerk's  little  son  clung  to  his  mother's  skirt, 
frightened  at  the  weakness  of  so  big  a  man. 

"  Go  and  say  good-bye  to  the  gentleman." 

The  little  boy  came  forward  timidly,  offering  his  hand. 


ESTHER  WATERS  S89 

William  looked  at  the  poor  little  white  face  ;  he  nodded 
to  the  father  and  went  out. 

As  he  went  downstairs  he  said  he  would  like  to  go 
home  in  a  hansom.  The  doctor  and  nurse  expostulated, 
but  he  persisted  until  Esther  begged  of  him  to  forgo  the 
wish  for  her  sake. 

^^They  do  rattle  so,  these  four-wheelers,  especially 
when  the  windows  are  up.     One  can't  speak." 

The  cab  jogged  up  Piccadilly,  and  as  it  climbed  out  of 
the  hollow  the  dying  man's  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  circle 
of  lights  that  shone  across  the  Green  Park.  They  looked 
like  a  distant  village,  and  Esther  wondered  if  William 
was  thinking  of  Shoreham — she  had  seen  Shoreham  look 
like  that  sometimes — or  if  he  was  thinking  that  he  was 
looking  on  London  for  the  last  time.  Was  he  saying  to 
himself,  ''  I  shall  never,  never  see  Piccadilly  again "  ? 
They  passed  St.  James's  Street.  The  Circus,  with  its  mob 
of  prostitutes,  came  into  view  ;  the  "  Criterion  "  bar,  with 
its  loafers  standing  outside.  William  leaned  a  little 
forward,  and  Esther  was  sure  he  was  thinking  that  he 
would  never  go  into  that  bar  again.  The  cab  turned  to 
the  left,  and  Esther  said  that  it  would  cross  Soho,  perhaps 
pass  down  Old  Compton  Street,  opposite  their  old  house. 
It  happened  that  it  did,  and  Esther  and  William  wondered 
who  were  the  new  people  who  were  selling  beer  and 
whisky  in  the  bar.  All  the  while  boys  were  crying, 
"  Win-ner,  all  the  win-ners  !" 

''  The  was  run  to-day.      Flat  racing  all  over,  all 

over  for  this  year." 

Esther  did  not  answer.  The  cab  passed  over  a  piece 
of  asphalt,  and  he  said  : 

"  Is  Jack  waiting  for  us  ?** 

"  Yes,  he  came  home  yesterday." 

The  fog  was  thick  in  Bloomsbury,  and  when  he  got  out 
of  the  cab  he  was  taken  with  a  fit  of  coughing,  and  had  to 


390  ESTHER  WATERS 

cling  to  the  railings.  She  had  to  pay  the  cab.  It  took 
some  time  to  find  the  money.  Would  no  one  open  the 
door?  At  last^  having  got  her  change,  she  followed  him 
into  the  house. 

^^  I  can  manage.     Go  on  first ;  I'll  follow." 

And  stopping  every  three  or  four  steps  for  rest,  he 
slowly  dragged  himself  up  to  the  first  landing.  A  door 
opened  and  Jack  stood  on  the  threshold  of  the  lighted 
room. 

"  Is  that  you,  mother  ?" 

"  Yes,  dear  ;  your  father  is  coming  up." 

The  boy  came  forward  to  help,  but  his  mother 
whispered,  "He'd  rather  come  up  by  himself." 

He  had  strength  to  walk  into  the  room  ;  they  gave  him 
a  chair,  and  he  looked  round,  and  seemed  pleased  to  see 
his  home  again.  Esther  gave  him  some  milk,  into  which 
she  had  put  a  little  brandy,  and  he  gradually  revived. 

"  Come  this  way.  Jack ;  I  want  to  look  at  you  ;  come 
into  the  light  where  I  can  see  you." 

"Yes,  father." 

"  I  haven't  long  to  see  you,  Jack.  I  wanted  to  be  with 
you  and  your  mother  in  our  own  home.  I  can  talk  a 
little  now;  I  may  not  be  able  to  to-morrow." 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  I  want  you  to  promise  me,  Jack,  that  you'll  never 
have  nothing  to  do  with  racing  and  betting.  It  hasn't 
brought  me  or  your  mother  any  luck." 

"  Very  well,  father. " 

"  You  promise  me.  Jack.  Give  me  your  hand.  You 
promise  me  that,  Jack.^" 

"Yes,  father,  I  promise." 

"  I  see  it  all  clearly  enough  now.  Your  mother.  Jack, 
is  the  best  woman  in  the  world.  She  loved  you  better 
than  I  did.  She  worked  for  you — that  is  a  sad  story. 
I  hope  you'll  never  hear  it." 


ESTHER  WATERS  391 

Husband  and  wife  looked  at  each  other,  and  in  that 
look  the  wife  promised  the  husband  that  the  son  should 
never  know  the  story  of  her  desertion. 

"  She  was  always  against  the  betting,  Jack ;  she  always 
knew  it  would  bring  us  ill-luck.  I  was  once  well  off,  but 
I  lost  everything.  No  good  comes  ^f  money,  that  one 
doesn't  work  for." 

"I'm  sure  you  worked  enough  for  what  you  won/* 
said  Esther;  ^^  travelling  day  and  night  from  racecourse 
to  racecourse.  Standing  on  them  racecourses  in  all 
weathers ;  it  was  the  colds  you  caught  standing  on  them 
racecourses  that  began  the  mischief," 

"  I  worked  hard  enough,  that's  true  ;  but  it  was  not  the 
right  kind  of  work.  I  can't  argue,  Esther.  But  I  know 
the  truth  now,  what  you  always  said  was  the  truth.  No 
good  comes  of  money  that  hasn't  been  properly  earned." 

He  sipped  the  brandy-and-milk  and  looked  at  Jack, 
who  was  crying  bitterly. 

"  You  mustn't  cry  like  that.  Jack  ;  I  want  you  to  listen 
to  me.  I've  still  something  on  my  mind.  Your  mother, 
Jack,  is  the  best  woman  that  ever  lived.  You're  too  young 
to  understand  how  good.  I  didn't  know  how  good  for  a 
long  time,  but  I  found  it  all  out  in  time,  as  you  will  later, 
Jack,  when  you  are  a  man.  I'd  hoped  to  see  you  grow  up 
to  be  a  man.  Jack,  and  your  mother  and  I  thought  that 
you'd  have  a  nice  bit  of  money.  But  the  money  I  hoped 
to  leave  you  is  all  gone.  What  I  feel  most  is  that  I'm 
leaving  you  and  your  mother  as  badly  off  as  she  was  when 
I  married  her."     He  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  Esther  said  : 

"  What  is  the  good  of  talking  of  these  things,  weakening 
yourself  for  nothing  ?" 

''  I  must  speak,  Esther.  I  should  die  happy  if  I  knew 
how  you  and  the  boy  was  going  to  live.  You'll  have  to 
go  out  and  work  for  him  as  you  did  before.  It  will  be  like 
beginning  it  all  again." 


592  ESTHER  WATERS 

The  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks ;  he  buried  his  face  in 
his  hands  and  sobbed,  until  the  sobbing  brought  on  a  fit 
of  coughing.  Suddenly  his  mouth  filled  with  blood.  Jack 
went  for  the  doctor,  and  all  remedies  were  tried  without 
avail.  *^^  There  is  one  more  remedy,"  the  doctor  said, 
"and  if  that  fails  you  must  prepare  for  the  worst."  But 
this  last  remedy  proved  successful,  and  the  haemorrhage 
was  stopped,  and  William  was  undressed  and  put  to  bed. 
The  doctor  said,  "  He  mustn't  get  up  to-morrow." 

"You  lie  in  bed  to-morrow,  and  try  to  get  up  your 
strength.     You've  overdone  yourself  to-day." 

She  had  drawn  his  bed  into  the  warmest  corner,  close 
by  the  fire,  and  had  made  up  for  herself  a  sort  of  bed  by 
the  window,  where  she  might  doze  a  bit,  for  she  did  not 
expect  to  get  much  sleep.  She  would  have  to  be  up  and 
down  many  times  to  settle  his  pillows  and  give  him  milk 
or  a  little  weak  brandy-and-water. 

Night  wore  away,  the  morning  grew  into  day,  and 
about  twelve  o'clock  he  insisted  on  getting  up.  She  tried 
to  persuade  him,  but  he  said  he  could  not  stop  in  bed ; 
and  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  ask  Mrs.  Collins  to 
help  her  dress  him.  The  cough  had  entirely  ceased,  and 
on  Saturday  night  he  slept  better  than  he  had  done  for  a 
long  while,  and  woke  up  on  Sunday  morning  refreshed  to 
eat  a  nice  bit  of  boiled  rabbit  for  his  dinner.  Esther 
fancied  that  he  was  still  thinking  of  them.  And  when 
the  afternoon  waned,  about  four  o'clock,  he  called  Jack ; 
he  told  him  to  sit  in  the  light  where  he  could  see  him, 
and  he  looked  at  his  son  with  such  wistful  eyes  that 
Esther  had  to  turn  aside  to  hide  her  tears. 

"I  should  have  liked  to  have  seen  you  a  man.  Jack." 

"Don't  speak  like  that — I  can't  bear  it,"  said  the  poor 
boy,  bursting  into  tears.  "  Perhaps  you  won't  die 
yet." 

"Yes,  Jack;  I'm  wore  out.     I  can  feel,"  he  said,  point- 


ESTHER  WATERS  393 

ing  to  his  chesty  "  that  there  is  nothing  here  to  lire  upon. 
It  is  the  punishment  come  upon  me." 

"Punishment  for  what^  father?" 

"I  wasn't  always  good  to  your  mother^  Jack." 

''If  to  please  me,  William,  you'll  say  no  more." 

"  The  boy  ought  to  know ;  it  will  be  a  lesson  for  him, 
and  it  weighs  upon  my  heart." 

"  I  don't  want  my  boy  to  hear  anything  bad  about  his 
father,  and  I  forbid  him  to  listen." 

The  conversation  paused,  and  soon  after  William  said 
that  his  strength  was  going  from  him,  and  that  he  would 
like  to  go  back  to  bed.  Esther  helped  him  off  with  his 
clothes,  and  together  she  and  Jack  lifted  him  into 
bed. 

"It  is  hard  to  part  from  you,"  he  said,  "  If  Chasuble 
had  won  we  would  have  all  gone  to  Egypt.  I  could  have 
lived  out  there." 

"  You  must  speak  of  them  things  no  more.  We  all  must 
obey  God's  will."  Esther  dropped  on  her  knees ;  she 
drew  Jack  down  beside  her.  William  asked  Jack  to  read 
something  from  the  Bible,  and  Jack  read  where  he  first 
opened  the  book,  and  when  he  had  finished  William  said 
that  he  liked  to  listen,  for  Jack's  voice  sounded  to  him 
like  heaven. 

About  eight  o'clock  William  bade  his  son  good-night. 

"  Good-night,  my  boy  ;  perhaps  we  shan't  see  each  other 
again.     This  may  be  my  last  night." 

"  I  won't  leave  you,  father." 

"  No,  my  boy,  go  to  your  bed.  I  feel  I'd  like  to  be  alone 
with  mother,"     The  voice  sank  almost  to  a  whisper. 

"  You'll  remember  what  you  promised  me  about  racing. 
Be  good  to  your  mother— she's  the  best  mother  a  son 
ever  had." 

"  I'll  work  for  mother,  father,  I'll  work  for  her." 

"  You're  too  young,  my  son,  but  when  you're  older  I 


394>  ESTHER  WATERS 

hope  you'll  work  for  her.  She  Avorked  for  you.  Good- 
bye, my  boy." 

The  d}dng  man  sweated  profusely,  and  Esther  wiped 
his  face  from  time  to  time.  Mrs.  Collins  came  in.  She 
had  a  large  tin  candlestick  in  her  hand  in  which  there  was 
a  fragment  of  candle  end.  He  motioned  to  her  to  put  it 
aside.     She  put  it  on  the  table  out  of  the  way  of  his  eyes. 

''  You'll  help  Esther  to  lay  me  out.  I  don't  want  any- 
one else.      I  don't  like  the  other  woman." 

'^  Esther  and  me  will  lay  you  out,  make  your  mind  easy  ; 
none  but  we  two  shall  touch  you." 

Once  more  Esther  wiped  his  forehead,  and  he  signed 
to  her  how  he  wished  the  bedclothes  to  be  arranged,  for 
he  could  no  longer  speak.  Mrs.  Collins  whispered  to 
Esther  that  she  did  not  think  that  the  end  could  be  far 
off,  and  compelled  by  a  morbid  sort  of  curiosity  she  took  a 
chair  and  sat  down.  Esther  wiped  away  the  little  drops 
of  sweat  as  they  came  upon  his  forehead ;  his  chest  and 
throat  had  to  be  wiped  also,  for  they  too  were  full  of 
sweat.  All  the  while  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  darkness 
and  he  moved  his  hand  restlessly,  and  Esther  always 
understood  what  he  wanted.  She  gave  him  a  little 
brandy-and-water,  and  when  he  could  not  take  it  from 
the  glass  she  gave  it  to  him  with  a  spoon. 

The  silence  seemed  to  grow  more  solemn,  and  as  Esther 
turned  from  the  bedside  for  the  brandy,  Mrs.  Collins' 
candle  S23luttered  and  went  out ;  a  little  thread  of  smoke 
evaporated,  leaving  only  a  morsel  of  blackened  wick ;  the 
flame  had  disappeared  for  ever,  gone  as  if  it  had  never 
been,  and  Esther  saw  darkness  where  there  had  been  a 
light.  * 

"  I  think  it  is  all  over,  dear.'* 

The  profile  on  the  pillow  seemed  very  little. 

'^  Hold  up  his  head,  so  that  if  there  is  any  breath  it  may 
come  on  the  glass," 


ESTHER  WATERS  395 

"  He's  dead,  right  enough.  You  see,  dear,  there's  not 
a  trace  of  breath  on  the  glass." 

"  I'd  Hke  to  say  a  prayer.  Will  you  say  a  prayer  with 
me?" 

'^  Yes,  1  feel  as  if  I  should  like  to  myself ;  it  eases  the 
heart  wonderful. ' ' 


XLIV. 

She  stood  on  the  platform  watching  the  receding  train. 
The  white  steam  curled  above  the  few  bushes  that  hid  the 
curve  of  the  line,  evaporating  in  the  pale  evening.  A 
moment  more  and  the  last  carriage  would  pass  out  of 
sight,  the  white  gates  at  the  crossing  swinging  slowly 
forward  to  let  through  the  impatient  passengers. 

An  oblong  box  painted  reddish  brown  lay  on  the  seat 
beside  a  woman  of  seven  or  eight  and  thirty,  stout  and 
strongly  built,  short  arms  and  hard-worked  hands,  dressed 
in  dingy  black  skirt  and  a  threadbare  jacket  too  thin  for 
the  dampness  of  a  November  day.  Her  face  was  a  blunt 
outline,  and  the  grey  eyes  reflected  all  the  natural  prose 
of  the  Saxon. 

The  porter  told  her  that  he  would  try  to  send  her 
box  up  to  Woodview  to-morrow.  That  was  the  way  to 
Woodview,  right  up  the  lane.  She  could  not  miss  it. 
She  would  find  the  lodge  gate  behind  that  clump  of  trees. 
And  thinking  how  she  could  get  her  box  to  Woodview 
that  evening,  she  looked  at  the  barren  strip  of  country 
lying  between  the  downs  and  the  shingle  beach.  The 
little  town  clamped  about  its  deserted  harbour  seemed 
more  than  ever  like  falling  to  pieces  like  a  derelict  vessel, 
and  when  Esther  passed  over  the  level  crossing  she  noticed 
that  the  line  of  little  villas  had  not  increased  ;  they  were 
as  she  had  left  them  eighteen  years  ago,  laurels,  iron  raiUng, 
antimacassars.     For  it  was  about  eighteen  years  ago,  on  a 


396  ESTHER  WATERS 

beautiful  June  day,  that  she  passed  up  this  lane  for  the 
first  time.  At  the  very  spot  she  was  now  passing  she 
stopped  to  wonder  if  she  would  be  able  to  keep  the 
place  of  kitchen-maid,  and  she  remembered  regretting 
that  she  hadn't  a  new  dress.  The  sun  was  shining,  and 
she  met  William  leaning  over  the  paling  in  the  avenue 
smoking  his  pipe.  Eighteen  years  had  gone  by,  eighteen 
years  of  labour,  suffering,  disappointment.  A  great  deal 
had  happened,  so  much  that  she  could  not  remember  it 
all.  The  situations  she  had  been  in  ;  her  life  with  that 
dear  good  soid.  Miss  Rice ;  then  Fred  Parsons ;  then 
William  again :  her  marriage,  the  life  in  the  public-house, 
money  lost  and  money  won,  heart-breakings,  death,  every- 
thing that  could  happen  had  happened  to  her.  And  now 
it  all  seemed  like  a  dream.  No,  her  boy  remained  to  her. 
Thank  God  for  that ;  she  had  been  able  to  bring  him  up. 
But  how  had  she  done  it?  How  often  had  she  found 
herself  within  sight  of  the  workhouse  ?  No  later  than 
last  week  it  had  seemed  that  she  would  have  to  accept 
the  workhouse  once  more.  But  she  had  escaped,  and 
now  here  she  was  back  at  the  very  point  from  which  she 
started,  going  back  to  Woodview,  going  back  to  Mrs. 
Barfield's  service. 

William's  illness  and  his  funeral  had  taken  Esther's  last 
few  pounds  away  from  her,  and  when  she  and  Jack  came 
back  from  the  cemetery  she  found  that  she  had  broken 
into  her  last  sovereign.  She  clasped  him  to  her  bosom — 
he  was  a  tall  boy  of  fifteen — and  burst  into  tears.  But 
she  did  not  tell  him  what  she  was  crying  for.  She  did  not 
say,  "  God  only  knows  how  we  shall  find  bread  to  eat  next 
week  ;"  she  merely  said,  wiping  away  her  tears,  "  We  can't 
afford  to  live  here  any  longer.  It's  too  expensive  for  us 
now  that  father's  gone."  And  they  went  to  live  in  a 
slum  for  three-and-sixpence  a  week.  If  she  had  been 
alone  in  the  world  she  would  have  gone  into  a  situation 


ESTHER  WATERS  397 

but  she  could  not  leave  the  boy^  and  so  she  had  to  look  out 
for  charing.  It  was  hard  to  have  to  come  down  to  this, 
particularly  when  she  remembered  that  she  had  had  a 
house  and  a  servant  of  her  own ;  but  there  was  no- 
thing for  it  but  to  look  out  for  some  charing,  and  get  along 
as  best  she  could  till  Jack  was  able  to  look  after  himself. 
But  the  various  scrubbings  and  general  cleaning  that  had 
come  her  way  had  been  so  badly  paid  that  she  soon  found 
that  she  could  not  make  both  ends  meet.  She  would  have 
to  leave  her  boy  and  go  out  as  a  general  servant.  And  as 
her  necessities  were  pressing,  she  accepted  a  situation  in 
a  coffee-shop  in  the  London  Road.  She  would  give  all 
her  wages  to  Jack,  seven  shillings  a  week,  and  he  would 
have  to  live  on  that.  So  long  as  she  had  her  health  she 
didn't  mind. 

It  was  a  squat  brick  building  with  four  windows  that 
looked  down  on  the  pavement  with  a  short-sighted  stare. 
On  each  window  was  written  in  letters  of  white  enamel, 
"  Well-aired  beds."  A  board  nailed  to  a  post  by  the  side- 
door  announced  that  tea  and  coffee  were  always  ready. 
On  the  other  side  of  the  sign  was  an  upholsterer's,  and 
the  vulgar  brightness  of  the  Brussels  carpets  seemed  in 
keeping  with  the  sloplike  appearance  of  the  coffee-house. 

Sometimes  a  workman  came  in  the  morning  ;  a  cou})le 
more  might  come  in  about  dmner-time.  Sometimes  they 
took  rashers  and  bits  of  steak  out  of  their  pockets. 

"  Won't  you  cook  this  for  me,  missis  ?" 

But  it  was  not  until  about  nine  in  the  evening  that  the 
real  business  of  the  house  began,  and  it  continued  till  one, 
when  the  last  straggler  knocked  for  admittance.  The 
house  lived  on  its  beds.  The  best  rooms  were  sometimes 
let  for  eight  shillings  a  night,  and  there  were  four  beds 
which  were  let  at  fourpence  a  night  in  the  cellar  under 
the  area  where  Esther  stood  by  the  great  copper  washing 
sheets,   blankets,   and    counterpanes   when    she    was   not 


S98  ESTHER  WATERS 

cleaning  the  rooms  upstairs.  There  was  a  double-bedded 
room  underneath  the  kitchen^  and  over  the  landings, 
wherever  a  space  could  be  found,  the  landlord,  who  was 
clever  at  carpentering  work,  had  fitted  up  some  sort  of 
closet  place  that  could  be  let  as  a  bedroom.  The  house 
was  a  honeycomb.  The  landlord  slept  under  the  roof,  and 
a  corner  had  been  found  for  his  housekeeper,  a  handsome 
young  woman,  at  the  end  of  the  passage.  Esther  and  the 
children — the  landlord  was  a  widower — slept  in  the  coffee- 
room  upon  planks  laid  across  the  tops  of  the  high  backs  of 
the  benches  where  the  customers  mealed.  Mattresses  and 
bedding  were  laid  on  these  planks  and  the  sleepers  lay, 
their  faces  hardly  two  feet  from  the  ceiling.  Esther  slept 
with  the  baby,  a  little  boy  of  five  ;  the  two  big  boys  slept 
at  the  other  end  of  the  room  by  the  front  door.  The 
eldest  was  about  fifteen,  but  he  was  only  half-witted  ;  and 
he  helped  in  the  housework,  and  could  turn  down  the  beds 
and  see  quicker  than  anyone  if  the  occupant  had  stolen 
sheet  or  blanket.  Esther  always  remembered  how  he 
would  raise  himself  up  in  bed  in  the  early  morning,  rub 
the  glass,  and  light  a  candle  so  that  he  could  be  seen  from 
below.  He  shook  his  head  if  every  bed  was  occupied,  or 
signed  with  his  fingers  the  prices  of  the  beds  if  they  had 
any  to  let. 

The  landlord,  a  tall,  thin  man,  with  long  features  and  hair 
turning  grey,  was  a  quiet  man,  and  Esther  was  surprised 
one  night  at  the  abruptness  with  which  he  stopped  a 
couple  who  were  going  upstairs. 

"  Is  that  your  wife  ?"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  she's  my  wife  all  right." 

"  She  don't  look  very  old." 

"  She's  older  than  she  looks." 

Then  he  said,  half  to  Esther,  half  to  his  housekeeper, 
that  it  was  hard  to  know  what  to  do,  If  you  asked  them 
for  their  marriage  certificates  they'd  be  sure  to  show  you 


ESTHER  WATERS  399 

something.  The  housekeeper  answered  that  they  paid 
well,  and  that  was  the  principal  thing.  But  when  an 
attempt  w^as  made  to  steal  the  bedclothes  the  landlord  and 
his  housekeeper  were  more  severe.  As  Esther  was  about 
to  let  a  most  respectable  woman  out  of  the  front  door,  the 
idiot  boy  called  down  the  stairs,  "  Stop  her  !  There's  a 
sheet  missing." 

"  Oh,  what  in  the  world  is  all  this  ?  I  haven't  got  your 
sheet.      Pray  let  me  pass  ;  I'm  in  a  hurry." 

"  I  can't  let  you  pass  until  the  sheet  is  found." 
«  You'll  find  it  upstairs  under  the  bed.     It's  got  mislaid. 
I'm  in  a  hurry." 

"  Call  in  the  police,"  shouted  the  idiot  boy. 
"  You'd  better  come  upstairs  and  help  me  to  find  the 
sheet,"  said  Esther. 

The  woman  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  walked  up 
in  front  of  Esther.  When  they  were  in  the  bedroom 
she  shook  out  her  petticoats,  and  the  sheet  fell  on  the 
floor. 

"  There,  now,"  said  Esther,  "  a  nice  botheration  you'd 
've  got  me  into.     I  should  've  had  to  pay  for  it." 

'^  Oh,  I  could  pay  for  it ;  it  was  only  because  I'm  not 
very  well  off  at  present." 

"  Yes,  you  will  pay  for  it  if  you  don't  take  care,"  said 
Esther. 

It  was  very  soon  after  that  Esther  had  her  mother's 
books  stolen  from  her.  They  had  not  been  doing  much 
business,  and  she  had  been  put  to  sleep  in  one  of  the  bed- 
rooms. The  room  was  suddenly  wanted,  and  she  had  no 
time  to  move  all  her  things,  and  when  she  went  to  make 
up  the  room  she  found  that  her  mother's  books  and  a  pair 
of  jet  earrings  that  Fred  had  given  her  were  stolen. 
She  could  do  nothing;  the  couple  who  occupied  the 
room  were  far  away  by  this  time.  There  was  no  hope  of 
ever  recovering  her  books  and  earrings ;  and  the  loss  of 


400  ESTHER  WATERS 

these  things  caused  her  a  great  deal  of  unhappiness.  The 
only  little  treasure  she  possessed  were  those  earrings. 
Everything  had  gone  from  her ;  she  was  alone  in  the 
world,  and  if  her  health  were  to  break  down  to-morrow 
she  would  have  to  go  to  the  workhouse.  What  would 
become  of  her  boy  ?  She  was  afraid  to  think ;  for  think- 
ing did  no  good.  She  mustn't  think,  but  must  just  work 
on,  washing  the  bedclothes  until  she  could  wash  no  longer. 
Wash,  wash,  all  the  week  long  ;  and  it  was  only  by  work- 
ing on  till  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  that  she  sometimes 
managed  to  get  the  Sabbath  free  from  washing.  Never, 
not  even  in  the  house  in  Chelsea,  had  she  had  such  hard 
work,  and  she  was  not  as  strong  now  as  she  was  then. 
But  her  courage  did  not  give  way  until  one  Sunday  Jack 
came  to  tell  her  that  the  people  who  employed  him  had 
sold  their  business. 

Then  a  strange  weakness  came  over  her.  She  thought 
of  the  endless  week  of  work  that  awaited  her  in  the  cellar, 
the  great  copper  on  the  fire,  the  heaps  of  soiled  linen  in 
the  corner,  the  steam  rising  from  the  wash  tub,  and 
she  felt  she  had  not  enough  strength  to  get  through 
another  week  of  such  work.  She  looked  at  her  son  with 
despair  in  her  eyes.  She  had  whispered  to  him  as  he  lay 
asleep  under  her  shawl,  a  tiny  infant,  "  There  is  nothing 
for  us,  my  poor  boy,  but  the  workhouse,"  and  the  same 
thought  rose  up  in  her  mind  as  she  looked  at  him,  a  tall 
lad  with  large  grey  eyes  and  dark  curling  hair.  But  she 
did'nt  trouble  him  with  her  despair.     She  merely  said  : 

"  I  don't  know  how  we  shall  pull  through,  Jack.  God 
will  help  us." 

"You're  washing  too  hard,  mother.  You're  wasting 
away.  Do  you  know  no  one,  mother,  who  could  help 
us?" 

She  looked  at  Jack  fixedly,  and  she  thought  of  Mrs. 
Barfield.     Mrs.  Barfield  might  be  away  in  the  South  with 


ESTHER  WATERS  401 

her  daughter.  If  she  were  at  Woodview  Esther  felt  sure 
that  she  would  not  refuse  to  help  her.  So  Jack  wrote  at  ' 
Esther's  dictation,  and  before  they  expected  an  answer,  a  r  j^ 
letter  came  from  Mrs.  Barfield  saying  that  she  remembered 
Esther  perfectly  well.  She  had  just  returned  from  the 
South.  She  was  all  alone  at  Woodview,  and  wanted  a 
servant.  Esther  could  come  and  take  the  place  if  she 
liked.  She  enclosed  five  pounds,  and  hoped  that  the 
money  would  enable  Esther  to  leave  London  at  once. 

But  this  returning  to  former  conditions  filled  Esther 
with  strange  trouble.  Her  heart  beat  as  she  recognized 
the  spire  of  the  church  between  the  trees,  and  the  undu- 
lating line  of  downs  behind  the  trees  awakened  terrible 
recollections.  She  knew  the  white  gate  was  somewhere 
in  this  plantation,  but  could  not  remember  its  exact 
position.  The  gate  had  fallen  from  its  hinge,  and  the 
lodge  where  the  blind  gate-keeper  used  to  play  the  flute 
was  closed  ;  the  park  paling  was  falling,  and  the  great 
holly  hedge  worn  away  by  wandering  sheep  and  cattle  ; 
and  an  elm  in  falHng  had  broken  through  the  garden  wall. 

On  arriving  at  the  iron  gate  under  the  bunched  ilexes 
her  steps  paused,  for  it  was  there  she  met  William  for  the 
first  time,  and  the  memory  stung  her.  He  had  taken  her 
through  the  stables  and  pointed  out  to  her  Silver  Braid's 
box !  She  remembered  the  horses  going  to  the  downs, 
horses  coming  from  the  downs — stabling  and  the  sound  of 
hoofs  everywhere.  But  now  silence.  She  could  see  that 
many  a  roof  had  fallen,  and  that  ruins  of  outhouses  filled 
the  yard.  She  remembered  the  kitchen  windows,  bright 
in  the  setting  sun,  and  the  white-capped  servants  moving 
about  the  great  white  table.  But  now  the  shutters  were 
up,  nowhere  a  light ;  the  knocker  had  disappeared  from 
the  door,  and  she  asked  herself  how  she  was  to  get  in. 
She  even  felt  afraid.  Supposing  she  should  not  find 
Mrs.  Barfield.     She  made  her  way  through  the  shrubbery, 

9  n 


402  ESTHER  WATERS 

tripping  over  fallen  branches  and  trunks  of  trees ;  rooks 
rose  out  of  the  evergreens  with  a  great  clatter,  her  heart 
stood  still,  and  slie  hardly  dared  to  tear  herself  through 
the  mass  of  underwood.  At  last  she  gained  the  lawn, 
and,  still  very  frightened,  sought  for  the  bell.  The  socket 
plate  hung  loose  on  the  wire,  and  only  a  faint  tinkle  came 
through  the  solitude  of  the  empty  house. 

At  last  footsteps  and  a  light ;  the  chained  door  was 
opened  a  little,  and  a  voice  asked  :  "Who  is  it?"  Esther 
explained  ;  and  then  the  door  was  opened,  and  she  stood 
face  to  face  with  her  old  mistress,  Mrs.  Barfield,  who 
stood,  holding  the  candle  high,  so  that  she  could  see 
Esther.  She  had  not  changed  very  much.  She  still  kept 
her  beautiful  white  teeth  and  her  girlish  smile ;  the 
pointed,  vixen-like  face  had  not  altered  in  outline,  but 
the  reddish  hair  was  so  thin  that  it  had  to  be  parted 
on  the  side  and  drawn  over  the  skull ;  her  figure  was 
delicate  and  sprightly  as  ever.  Esther  noticed  all  this. 
Mrs.  Barfield  noticed  that  Esther  was  stouter,  and  that 
her  face  kept  that  look  of  blunt,  honest  nature  which  had 
always  been  her  charm  in  the  years  gone  by,  and  was 
attractive  in  the  thick-set  working-woman  of  forty,  who 
stood  holding  the  hem  of  her  jacket  in  her  rough  hands. 

"We'd  better  put  the  chain  up,  for  I'm  alone  in  the 
house." 

"Aren't  you  afraid,  ma'am.''" 

"  A  little,  but  there's  nothing  to  steal ;  and  I  asked 
the  policeman  to  keep  a  lookout." 

In  the  library  were  the  round  table,  the  little  green 
sofa,  the  piano,  the  parrot's  cage,  and  the  yellow- 
painted  presses  ;  and  it  seemed  only  a  little  while  since 
she  was  summoned  to  this  room,  since  she  stood  facing 
her  mistress,  her  confession  on  her  lips.  It  seemed  like 
yesterday,  yet  seventeen  years  and  more  had  gone  by — a 
dream,  the  connecting  links  of  which  were  gone. 


ESTHER  WATERS  40S 

"  YouVe  had  a  cold  journey,  Esther;  you'd  like  some  tea?" 

"  Ohj  don't  trouble,  ma'am." 

"  It*s  no  trouble  ;  I  should  like  some  myself.  The  fire's 
out  in  the  kitchen,  but  we  can  boil  the  kettle  here." 

They  went  through  the  baize  door  into  the  long  passage. 
Mrs.  Barfield  told  Esther  where  was  the  pantry,  the  kitchen, 
and  the  larder.  Esther  answered  that  she  remembered 
quite  well,  and  it  seemed  to  her  not  a  little  strange  that 
she  should  know  these  things.     Mrs.  Barfield  said  : 

''So  you  haven't  forgotten  Woodview,  Esther?" 

"  No,  ma'am.  It  seems  like  yesterday.  But  I'm  afraid 
the  damp  has  got  into  the  kitchen,  ma'am,  the  range  is 
that  neglected " 

"Ah,  Woodview  isn't  what  it  was." 

Mrs.  Barfield  told  how  she  had  buried  her  husband  in 
the  old  village  church.  She  had  taken  her  daughter  to 
Egypt ;  and  she  dwindled  till  there  was  little  more  than 
a  skeleton  to  lay  in  the  grave. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  I  know  how  it  takes  them,  inch  by  inch. 
My  husband  died  of  consumption." 

One  thing  led  to  another,  and  Esther  gradually  told 
Mrs.  Barfield  the  story  of  her  life  from  the  day  they  bade 
each  other  good-bye  in  the  room  they  were  now  sitting  in. 

"  It  is  quite  a  romance,  Esther." 

"  It  was  a  hard  fight,  and  it  isn't  over  yet,  ma'am.  It 
won't  be  over  until  I  see  him  settled  in  some  regular 
work.     I  hope  I  shall  live  to  see  him  settled." 

They  sat  over  the  fire  a  long  time.  At  last  Mrs.  Barfield 
said  : 

"  It  must  be  getting  on  for  bedtime. " 

"  I  suppose  it  must,  ma'am." 

She  asked  if  she  should  sleep  in  the  room  she  had  once 
shared  with  Margaret  Gale.  Mrs.  Barfield  answered  with 
a  sigh  that  as  all  the  bedrooms  were  empty  Esther  had 
better  sleep  in  the  room  next  to  hers. 


404  ESTHER  WATERS 


XLV. 


Esther  seemed  to  have  quite  naturally  accepted  Woodview 
as  a  final  stage.  Any  further  change  in  her  life  she  did 
not  seem  to  regard  as  possible  or  desirable.  One  of  these 
days  her  boy  would  get  settled ;  he  would  come  down 
now  and  again  to  see  her.  She  did  not  want  any  more 
than  that.  No^,  she  did  not  find  the  place  lonely.  A  young 
girl  might,  but  she  was  no  longer  a  young  girl ;  she  had 
I  ;  her  work  to  do,  and  when  it  was  done  she  was  glad  to  sit 
•   down  to  rest. 

And,  dressed  in  long  cloaks,  the  women  went  for  walks 
together ;  sometimes  they  went  up  the  hill,  sometimes 
into  Southwick  to  make  some  little  purchases.  On 
Sundays  they  walked  to  Beeding  to  attend  meeting.  And 
they  came  home  along  the  winter  roads,  the  peace  and 
happiness  of  prayer  upon  their  faces,  holding  their  skirts 
out  of  the  mud,  unashamed  of  their  common  boots.  They 
made  no  acquaintances,  seeming  to  find  in  each  other  all 
necessary  companionship.  Their  heads  bent  a  little 
forward,  they  trudged  hojue,  talking  of  what  they  were 
in  the  habit  of  talking,  that  another  tree  had  been  blown 
down,  that  Jack  was  now  earning  good  money — ten 
shillings  a  week.  Esther  hoped  it  would  last.  Or  else 
Esther  told  her  mistress  that  she  had  heard  that  one  of 
Mr.  Arthur's  horses  had  won  a  race.  He  lived  in  the 
north  of  England,  where  he  had  a  small  training  stable, 
and  his  mother  never  heard  of  him  except  through  the 
sporting  papers.  ''  He  hasn't  been  here  for  four  years," 
Mrs.  Barfield  said  ;  "  he  hates  the  place  ;  he  wouldn't  care 
if  I  were  to  burn  it  down  to-morrow.  However,  I  do  the 
best  I  can,  hoping  that  one  day  he'll  marry  and  come  and 
live  here." 


ESTHER  WATERS  406 

Mr.  Arthur — that  was  how  Mrs.  Barfield  and  Esther 
spoke  of  him — did  not  draw  any  income  from  the  estate. 
The  rents  only  sufficed  to  pay  the  charges  and  the  widow's 
jointure.  All  the  land  was  let ;  the  house  he  had  tried 
to  let,  but  it  had  been  found  impossible  to  find  a  tenant, 
unless  Mr.  Arthur  would  expend  some  considerable  sum 
in  putting  the  house  and  grounds  into  a  state  of  proper 
repair.  This  he  did  not  care  to  do  ;  he  said  that  he  found 
racehorses  a  more  profitable  speculation.  Besides,  even 
the  park  had  been  let  on  lease ;  nothing  remained  to  him 
but  the  house  and  lawn  and  garden ;  he  could  no  longer 
gallop  a  horse  on  the  hill  without  somebody's  leave^  so  he 
didn't  care  what  became  of  the  place.  His  mother  might 
go  on  living  there^  keeping  things  together  as  she  called 
it ;  he  did  not  mind  what  she  did  as  long  as  she  didn't 
bother  him.  So  did  he  express  himself  regarding  Wood- 
view  on  the  rare  occasion  of  his  visits,  and  when  he 
troubled  to  answer  his  mother's  letters.  Mrs.  Barfield, 
whose  thoughts  were  limited  to  the  estate,  was  pained  by 
his  indifference ;  she  gradually  ceased  to  consult  him,  and 
when  Beeding  was  too  far  for  her  to  walk  she  had  the 
furniture  removed  from  the  drawing-room  and  a  long  deal 
table  placed  there  instead.  She  had  not  asked  herself  if 
Arthur  would  object  to  her  inviting  a  few  Brethren  to 
her  house  for  meeting,  or  publishing  the  meetings  bj 
notices  posted  on  the  lodge  gate.  And  one  day,  while 
walking  in  the  avenue,  they  saw  Mr.  Arthur  open  the 
white  gate  and  come  through.  The  mother  hastened 
forward  to  meet  her  son,  but  paused,  dismayed  by  the 
anger  that  looked  out  of  his  eyes.  He  did  not  like  the 
notices,  and  she  was  sorry  that  he  was  annoyed.  She 
didn't  think  that  he  would  mind  them,  and  she  hastened 
by  his  side,  pleading  her  excuses.  But  to  her  great 
sorrow  Arthur  did  not  seem  to  be  able  to  overcome  his 
annoyance.      He    refused    to    listen,    and    continued    his 


406  ESTHER  WATERS 

reproaches,  saying  the  things  that  he  knew  would  most 
pain  her. 

He  did  not  care  whether  the  trees  stood  or  fell^  whether 
the  cement  remained  upon  the  walls  or  dropped  from 
them ;  he  didn't  draw  a  penny  of  income  from  the  place, 
and  did  not  care  a  damn  what  became  of  it.  He  alloAved 
her  to  live  there  ;  she  got  her  jointure  out  of  the  property, 
and  he  didn't  want  to  interfere  with  her,  but  what  he 
could  not  stand  was  the  snuffy  little  folk  from  Shoreham 
coming  round  his  house.  The  Barfields  at  least  were 
county,  and  he  wished  Woodview  to  remain  county  as 
long  as  the  walls  held  together.  He  wasn't  a  bit  ashamed 
of  all  this  ruin.  You  could  receive  the  Prince  of  Wales  in 
a  ruin,  but  he  wouldn't  care  to  ask  him  into  a  dissenting 
chapel.  Mrs.  Barfield  answered  that  she  didn't  see  how 
the  mere  assembling  of  a  few  friends  in  prayer  could 
disgrace  a  house.  There  was  no  place  nearer  than 
Deeding  where  they  could  meet,  and  she  could  no  longer 
walk  so  far,  so  she  would  have  to  give  up  meeting. 

"  It  seems  to  me  a  strange  taste  to  want  to  kneel  down 
with  a  lot  of  little  shop-keepers.  Is  this  where  you 
kneel?"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  long  deal  table.  ^'The 
place  is  a  regular  little  Bethel." 

''Our  Lord  said  that  when  a  number  should  gather 
together  for  prayer  that  He  would  be  among  them.  Those 
are  true  words,  and  as  we  get  old  we  feel  more  and  more 
the  want  of  this  communion  of  spirit.  It  is  only  then  that 
we  feel  that  we're  really  with  God.  The  folk  that  you 
despise  are  equal  in  His  sight.  And  living  here  alone, 
what  should  I  be  without  prayer  ?  and  Esther,  after  her 
life  of  trouble  and  strife,  what  would  she  be  without 
prayer?     It  is  our  consolation." 

"  I  think  one  should  choose  one's  company  for  prayer  as 
for  everything  else.  Besides,  what  do  you  get  out  of  it  ? 
Miracles  don't  happen  nowadays." 


ESTHER  WATERS  407 

"  You're  still  young,  Arthur,  and  you  cannot  feel  the 
want  of  prayer  as  we  do — two  old  women  living  in  this 
lonely  house.  As  age  and  solitude  overtake  us,  the  realities 
of  life  float  away  and  we  become  more  and  more  sensible 
to  the  mystery  which  surrounds  us.  And  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ  gave  us  love  and  prayer  so  that  we  might  see  a 
little  farther." 

An  expression  of  great  beauty  came  upon  her  face — that 
unconscious  resignation  which,  like  the  twilight,  hallows 
and  transforms.  In  such  moments  the  humblest  hearts 
are  at  one  with  nature,  and  speak  out  of  the  eternal 
wisdom  of  things.  So  even  this  common  racing  man  was 
touched,  and  he  said : 

"I'm  sorry  if  I  said  anything  to  hurt  your  religious 
feelings." 

Mrs.  Barfield  did  not  answer. 

"  Do  you  not  accept  my  apologies,  mother?" 

"  My  dear  boy,  what  do  1  care  for  your  apologies  ;  what 
are  they  to  me  ?  All  I  think  of  now  is  your  conversion  to 
Christ.  Nothing  else  matters.  I  shall  always  pray  for 
that." 

"  You  may  have  whom  you  like  up  here ;  I  don't  mind 
if  it  makes  you  happy.  I'm  ashamed  of  myself.  Don't 
let's  say  any  more  about  it.  I'm  only  down  for  the  day. 
I'm  going  home  to-morrow." 

"  Home,  Arthur  !  this  is  your  home.  I  can't  bear  to 
hear  you  speak  of  any  other  place  as  your  home." 

"Well,  mother,  then  I  shall  say  that  I'm  going  back  to 
business  to-morrow." 

Mrs.  Barfield  sighed. 


408  ESTHER  WATERS 


XLVI. 

Days,  weeks,  months  passed  away,  and  the  two  women  came 
I  to  live  more  and  more  like  friends  and  less  like  mistress 
I  and  maid .  Not  that  Esther  ever  failed  to  use  the  respectful 
«^^  ma'am "  when  she  addressed  her  mistress,  nor  did  they 
ever  sit  down  to  a  meal  at  the  same  table.  But  these 
slight  social  distinctions,  which  habit  naturally  preserved, 
and  which  it  would  have  been  disagreeable  to  both  to 
forgo,  were  no  check  on  the  intimacy  of  their  companion- 
ship. In  the  evening  they  sat  in  the  library  sewing,  or 
Mrs.  Barfield  read  aloud,  or  they  talked  of  their  sons.  On 
Sundays  they  had  their  meetings.  The  folk  came  from 
quite  a  distance,  and  sometimes  as  many  as  five-and-twenty 
knelt  round  the  deal  table  in  the  dramng-room,  and 
Esther  felt  that  these  days  were  the  happiest  of  her  life. 
She  was  content  in  the  peaceful  present,  and  she  knew  that 
Mrs.  Barfield  would  not  leave  her  unprovided  for.  She 
was  almost  free  from  anxiety.  But  Jack  did  not  seem  to 
/  be  able  to  obtain  regular  employment  in  London,  so  the 
/  sight  of  his  handwriting  made  her  tremble,  and  she  some- 
times did  not  show  the  letter  to  Mrs.  Barfield  for  some 
hours  after. 

One  Sunday  morning,  after  meeting,  as  the  two  women 
were  going  for  their  walk  up  the  hill,  Esther  said  : 

"  I've  a  letter  from  my  boy,  ma'am.  I  hope  it  is  to  tell 
me  that  he's  got  back  to  work." 

"  I'm  afraid  I  shan't  be  able  to  read  it,  Esther.  I  haven't 
my  glasses  with  me." 

"  It  don't  matter,  ma'am — it'll  keep." 

"  Give  it  to  me — his  writing  is  large  and  legible.  I 
think  I  can  read  it.  '  My  dear  mother,  the  place  I  told 
you  of  in  my  last  letter  was  given  away,  so  I  must  go  on  in 


ESTHER  WATERS  409 

the  toy-shop  till  something  better  turns  up.  I  only  get 
six  shillings  a  week  and  my  tea,  and  can't  quite  manage  on 
that.'  Then  something — something — '  pay  three  and 
sixpence  a  week' — something — '  bed' — something — some- 
thing." 

"  I  know,  ma'am  ;  he  shares  a  bed  with  the  eldest  boy." 

"  Yes,  that's  it ;  and  he  wants  to  know  if  you  can  help 
him.  '  I  don't  like  to  trouble  you,  mother  ;  but  it  is  hard 
for  a  boy  to  get  his  living  in  London.' " 

"  But  I've  sent  him  all  my  money.  I  shan't  have  any 
till  next  quarter." 

"  I'll  lend  you  some,  Esther.  We  can't  leave  the  boy  to 
starve.     He  can't  live  on  two  and  sixpence  a  week." 

''  You're  very  good,  ma'am  ;  but  I  don't  like  to  take 
your  money.  We  shan't  be  able  to  get  the  garden  cleared 
this  winter." 

"  We  shall  manage  somehow,  Esther.  The  garden  must 
wait.  The  first  thing  to  do  is  to  see  that  your  boy  doesn't 
want  for  food." 

The  women  resumed  their  walk  up  the  hill.  When  they 
reached  the  top  Mrs.  Barfield  said : 

"  I  haven't  heard  from  Mr.  Arthur  for  months.  I  envy 
you,  Esther,  those  letters  asking  for  a  little  money.  What's 
the  use  of  money  to  us  except  to  give  it  to  our  children  ? 
Hel^ngjithej:s*.^thatis_th^^  ^^ 

At  the  end  of  the  coombe,  under  the  shaws,  stood  the 
old  red-tiled  farmhouse  in  which  Mrs.  Barfield  had  been 
born.  Beyond  it,  downlands  rolled  on  and  on,  reaching 
half-way  up  the  northern  sky.  Mrs.  Barfield  was  thinking 
of  the  days  when  her  husband  used  to  jump  off  his  cob  and 
walk  beside  her  through  those  gorse  patches  on  his  way  to 
the  farmhouse.  She  had  come  from  the  farmhouse  beneath 
the  shaws  to  go  to  live  in  an  Italian  house  sheltered  by 
a  fringe  of  trees.  That  was  her  adventure.  She  knew  it, 
and  she  turned  from  the  view  of  the  downs  to  the  view  of 


410  ESTHER  WATERS 

the  sea.  The  plantations  of  Woodview  touched  the  horizon, 
then  the  line  dipped,  and  between  the  top  branches  of  a 
row  of  elms  appeared  the  roofs  of  the  town.  Over  a  long 
spider-legged  bridge  a  train  wriggled  like  a  snake,  the 
bleak  river  flowed  into  the  harbour,  and  the  shingle  banks 
saved  the  low  land  from  inundation.  Then  the  train  passed 
behind  the  square,  dogmatic  tower  of  the  village  church. 
Her  husband  lay  beneath  the  chancel ;  her  father,  mother, 
all  her  relations,  lay  in  the  churchyard,  and  she  would 
go  there  in  a  few  years.  Upon  this  downland  all  her  life 
had  been  passed,  all  her  life  except  the  few  months  she 
had  spent  by  her  daughter's  bedside  in  Egypt.  She  came 
from  that  coombe,  from  that  farmhouse  beneath  the 
shawSj  and  only  crossed  the  down. 

And  this  barren  landscape  meant  as  much  to  Esther  as 
to  her  mistress.  It  was  on  these  downs  that  she  had 
walked  with  William.  He  was  born  and  bred  on  these 
downs ;  but  he  lay  far  away  in  Brompton  Cemetery ;  it 
was  she  m^io  had  come  back  !  and  in  her_simple.  way  she 


,^1  ^tQ0jwond^red3tJ<lie_s^ 
ifr'^  i     As  they  descended  the  h 


they  descended  the  hill  Mrs.  Barfield  asked  Esther 
if  she  ever  heard  of  Fred  Parsons. 

''No,  ma'am,  I  don't  know  what's  become  of  him." 

"  And  if  you  were  to  meet  him  again,  would  you  care 
to  marry  him  ?" 

''  Marry  and  begin  life  over  again !  All  the  worry  and 
bother  over  again !  W^hy  should  I  marry  ? — all  I  live  for 
now  is  to  see  my  boy  settled  in  life." 

The  women  walked  on  in  silence,  passing  by  long  ruins 
of  stables,  coach-houses,  granaries,  rick-yards — all  in  ruin 
and  decay.  The  women  paused  and  went  towards  the 
garden ;  and  removing  some  pieces  of  the  broken  gate 
they  entered  a  miniature  wilderness.  The  espalier  apple- 
trees  had  disappeared  beneath  climbing  weeds,  and  long 
briars^had  shot  out  from  the  bushes,  leaving  few  traces 


ESTHER  WATERS  411 

of  the  former  walks — a  damp,  dismal  place  that  the  birds 
seemed  to  have  abandoned.  Of  the  greenhouse  only  some 
broken  glass  and  a  black  broken  cliiraney  remained.  A 
great  elm  had  carried  away  a  large  portion  of  the  southern 
wall,  and  under  the  dripping  trees  an  aged  peacock 
screamed  for  his  lost  mate. 

"  I  don't  suppose  that  Jack  will  be  able  to  find  any  more 
paying  employment  this  winter.  We  must  send  him  six 
shillings  a  week ;  that,  with  what  he  is  earning,  will 
make  twelve ;  he'll  be  able  to  live  nicely  on  that." 

"  I  should  think  he  would,  indeed.  But  then,  what 
about  the  wages  of  them  who  was  to  have  cleared  the 
gardens  for  us  ?" 

^^We  shan't  be  able  to  get  the  whole  garden  cleared, 
but  Jim  will  be  able  to  get  a  piece  ready  for  us  to  sow 
some  spring  vegetables — not  a  large  piece,  but  enough  for 
us.  The  first  thing  to  do  will  be  to  cut  down  those  apple- 
trees,  I'm  afraid  we  shall  have  to  cut  down  that  walnut ; 
nothing  could  grow  beneath  it.  Did  anyone  ever  see 
such  a  mass  of  weed  and  briar  ?  Yet  it  is  only  about  ten 
years  since  we  left  Woodview,  and  the  garden  was  let  run 
to  waste.  Nature  does  not  take  long — a  few  years,  a  very 
few  years." 


XLVII. 

All  the  winter  the  north  wind  roamed  on  the  hills ;  many 
trees  fell  in  the  park,  and  at  the  end  of  February  Woodview 
seemed  barer  and  more  desolate  than  ever  ;  broken  branches 
littered  the  roadway,  and  the  tall  trunks  showed  their 
wounds.  The  women  sat  over  their  fire  in  the  evening 
listening  to  the  blast,  cogitating  on  the  work  that  awaited 
them  as  soon  as  the  weather  showed  signs  of  breaking. 
Mrs.    Barfield   had    laid   by   a   few   pounds    during  the 


412  ESTHER  WATERS 

winter ;  and  the  day  that  Jim  cleared  out  the  first  piece 
of  espaUer  trees  she  spent  entirely  in  the  garden,  hardly 
able  to  take  her  eyes  off  him.  But  the  pleasure  of  the 
day  was  in  a  measure  spoilt  for  her  by  the  knowledge  that 
on  that  day  her  son  was  riding  in  the  great  steeple-chase. 
She  was  full  of  fear  for  his  safety ;  she  did  not  sleep  that 
night,  and  hurried  down  at  an  early  hour  to  the  garden  to 
ask  Jim  for  the  newspaper  which  she  had  told  him  to 
bring  her. 

"  Oh,  Jim,  do  be  quick." 

"  My  pocket  is  torn,  ma'am.     Here  it  is." 

''  He  isn't  in  the  first  three,"  said  Mrs.  Barfield.  "  I 
always  know  that  he's  safe  if  he's  in  the  first  three.  We 
must  turn  to  the  account  of  the  race  to  see  if  there  were 
any  accidents." 

She  turned  over  the  paper. 

"Thank  God,  he's  safe,"  she  said;  "his  horse  ran 
fourth." 

"You  worry  yourself  without  cause,  ma'am.  A  good 
rider  like  him  don't  meet  with  accidents." 

"The  best  riders  are  often  killed,  Esther.  I  never 
have  an  easy  moment  when  I  hear  he's  going  to  ride  in 
these  races.  Supposing  one  day  I  were  to  read  that  he 
was  carried  back  on  a  shutter." 

*^^We  mustn't  let  our  thoughts  run  on  such  things, 
ma'am.  If  a  war  was  to  break  out  to-morrow,  what  should 
I  do  ?  His  regiment  would  be  ordered  out.  It  is  sad  to 
think  that  he  had  to  enlist.  But,  as  he  said,  he  couldn't 
go  on  living  on  me  any  longer.  Poor  boy !  We  must 
keep  on  working,  doing  the  best  we  can  for  them.  There 
are  all  sorts  of  chances,  and  we  can  only  pray  that  God 
may  spare  them." 

"Yes,  Esther,  that's  all  we  can  do.  Work__on,  work 
on  to  the  end.  But  your  boy  is  coming  to  see  yoif 
to-day." 


ESTHER  WATERS  413 

"Yes,  ma'am,  he'll  be  here  by  twelve  o'clock." 

"  You're  luckier  than  I  am,  I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever 
see  my  boy  again." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  of  course  you  will.  He'll  come  back  to 
you  right  enough  one  of  these  days.  There's  a  good  time 
coming;  that's  what  I  always  says.  .  .  .  And  now  I've 
got  work  to  do  in  the  house.  Are  you  going  to  stop  here, 
or  are  you  coming  in  with  me  ?  It'll  do  you  no  good 
standing  about  in  the  wet  clay." 

Mrs.  Barfield  smiled  and  nodded,  and  Esther  paused  at 
the  broken  gate  to  watch  her  mistress,  who  stood  super- 
intending the  clearing  away  of  ten  years'  growth  of  weeds, 
as  much  interested  in  the  prospect  of  a  few  peas  and 
cabbages  as  in  former  days  she  had  been  in  the  culture  of 
expensive  flowers.  She  stood  on  what  remained  of  a 
gravel  walk,  the  heavy  clay  clinging  to  her  boots,  watching 
Jim  piling  weeds  upon  his  barrow.  Would  he  be  able  to 
finish  the  plot  of  ground  by  the  end  of  the  week .''  What 
should  they  do  with  that  great  walnut-tree .-'  Nothing 
would  grow  underneath  it.  Jim  was  afraid  that  he  would 
not  be  able  to  cut  it  down  and  remove  it  without  help. 
Mrs.  Barfield  suggested  sawing  away  some  of  the  branches, 
but  Jim  was  not  sure  that  lopping  would  make  much 
difference,  for  in  his  opinion  the  tree  took  all  the  goodness 
out  of  the  soil,  and  that  while  it  stood  they  could  not 
expect  a  very  great  show  of  vegetables.  Mrs.  Barfield 
asked  if  the  sale  of  the  tree  trunk  would  indemnify  her 
for  the  cost  of  cutting  it  down.  Jim  paused  in  his  work, 
and,  leaning  on  his  spade,  considered  if  there  was  anyone 
in  the  town,  who,  for  the  sake  of  the  timber,  would  cut 
the  tree  down  and  take  it  away  for  nothing.  There  ought 
to  be  some  such  person  in  town ;  if  it  came  to  that,  Mrs. 
Barfield  ought  to  receive  something  for  the  tree.  Walnut 
was    a    valuable    wood,    was    much    used    by    cabinet- 


414  ESTHER  WATERS 

makers^  and  so  on^  until  Mrs.  Barfield  begged  him  to  get 
on  with  his  die-ffinff. 

At  twelve  o'clock  Esther  and  Mrs.  Barfield  walked  out 
on  the  lawn,  A  loud  wind  came  up  from  the  sea,  and  it 
shook  the  evergreens  as  if  it  were  angry  with  them.  A 
rook  carried  a  stick  to  the  tops  of  the  tall  trees,  and  the 
women  drew  their  cloaks  about  them.  The  train  passed 
across  the  vista,  and  the  women  wondered  how  long  it 
would  take  Jack  to  walk  from  the  station.  Then  another 
rook  stooped  to  the  edge  of  the  plantation,  gathered  a 
twig,  and  carried  it  away.  The  wind  was  rough  ;  it  caught 
the  evergreens  underneath  and  blew  them  out  like 
umbrellas ;  the  grass  had  not  yet  begun  to  grow,  and  the 
grey  sea  harmonized  with  the  grey-green  land.  The 
women  waited  on  the  windy  lawn,  their  skirts  blown 
against  their  legs,  keeping  their  hats  on  with  difficulty. 
It  was  too  cold  for  standing  still.  They  turned  and 
walked  a  few  steps  towards  the  house,  and  then  looked 
round. 

A  tall  soldier  came  through  the  gate.  He  wore  a  long 
red  cloak,  and  a  small  cap  jauntily  set  on  the  side  of  his 
close-clipped  head.  Esther  uttered  a  little  exclamation, 
and  ran  to  meet  him.  He  took  his  mother  in  his  arms, 
kissed  her,  and  they  walked  towards  Mrs.  Barfield  together. 
All  was  forgotten  in  the  happiness  of  the  moment — the 
■^Jong  iTght  For  his  life,  and  the  possibility  that  an}'^  moment 
might  declare  him  to  be  mere  food  for  powder  and  shot. 
She  was  only  conscious  that  she  had  accomplished  her 
woman's  work — she  had  brought  him  up  to  man's  estate  ; 
-~>and  that  was  her  sufficient  reward.  What  a  fine  fellow  he 
was  !  She  did  not  know  he  was  so  handsome,  and  blushing 
with  pleasure  and  pride  she  glanced  shyly  at  him  out  of 
the  corners  of  her  eyes  as  she  introduced  him  to  her 
mistress. 

^^This  is  my  son,  ma'am." 


ESTHER  WATERS  415 

Mrs.  Barfield  held  out  her  hand  to  the  young  soldier. 

"  I  have  heard  a  great  deal  about  you  from  your 
mother." 

"  And  I  of  you,  ma'am.  You've  been  very  kind  to  my 
mother.     I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you." 

And  in  silence  they  walked  towards  the  house. 


THE    END. 


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